


Beautiful and Good

by scandalsavage



Series: Paradise Regained [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Flashpoint (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Butt Plugs, Choking, Come Swallowing, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Flashpoint - Freeform, If You Squint - Freeform, Kinda, M/M, Oral Sex, Priest Jason, Restraints, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-07-07 22:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15917625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: Damian, like all offspring, obviously had no control over how he was brought into the world. But Thomas Wayne had never forgiven him for Ra’s and Talia’s sins, even after the two had died.Jason's first life didn't start out great and it ended even worse. When he was given a second chance, for whatever reason, he decided to make the most of it, pay it forward; help show others that, while the world can be a terrible, unforgiving place, it can also be beautiful and good.





	1. Glass and Steel and Limestone

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【DamiJay】【授權翻譯】至美臻善 Beautiful and Good](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19128280) by [DriedFish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DriedFish/pseuds/DriedFish)



> So this is something I've wanted to write for a long time (the world needs more Jason/Damian and more Flashpoint Father Todd) though my motivation to share it was because of a piece of fanart that I can't find (I think the art was actually BruJay but it looked so much like Damian because of the cloak... if I find it, I'll link it).
> 
> I've never posted anything I've written before and this my first attempt at smut (even though there isn't any in this chapter). This story conveniently forgets that Ra's is mentioned/shown in Flashpoint, if briefly and weirdly. I also had to jump through a couple of hoops to get Damian into this world, as Bruce is dead and Thomas's and Talia's child would not have been Damian. Work title is something Father Todd says to Traci.

 

 

It wasn’t a reminder. Not like the gun displayed in front of the photo. _The_ gun. No, the little vial he kept in cold storage wasn’t to remind him of anything, it was more of a promise. Well, not really a promise. He never really expected to use it. The thought seemed… wrong. Against the laws of nature, laughing-in-the-face-of-God kind of _wrong_. And yet it’s presence in his life had been a source of small comfort. He _could_ use it, if he ever got so desperate; if the pain was ever too much to bear.  
  
He stares at the empty case feeling rage boil in his blood and an overwhelming sense of loss tearing his chest to shreds. The small safe containing an assortment of priceless jewels and a go-bag of $10 million cash is untouched. The only thing taken in the whole cave was the vial of his son’s blood.

The pain of the loss was excruciating. It was almost like losing him all over again. He felt a throbbing tightness in his chest, like someone was squeezing his heart then easing up, over and over again. His breath was caught in his throat, refusing to move. Before he made the conscious decision to move, his fist was through the glass door of the case. He didn’t even feel the cuts on his fist or the blood already dripping down his knuckles as he flung the unit to the ground.

He rampaged through the cave, destroying everything in sight (except the shelf with the gun and the photo) until he was kneeling in the middle of the wreckage, shoulders tense, breathing heavily, tears stinging the corners of his eyes threatening to fall.  
  
He took a shaky breath, shoulders sagging, someone was going to die.  
  
  
  
*              *              *

 

Being in Gotham is… frustrating. It is one of Damian’s favorite cities with its sharp and spindly gothic architecture contrasting acutely with overwhelming waves of neon lights; its seeming victory over the sun itself that leaves the city in near constant darkness; it’s filth and violence and the stubbornness of its inhabitants to remain despite all sense and reason demanding exodus. But for all the things Damian enjoys about Gotham, there is one negative he can not escape every time he visits, one thing that always keeps him away from the city for longer than he would have stayed otherwise.  
  
That ‘thing’ has been watching him since his car had left his private landing strip; had followed him when he left his Gotham residence for an evening walk; slinking from shadow to shadow as if it doesn’t know Damian knows it is there.  
  
Damian stops at the entrance to a particularly pungent alley, crosses his arms at a shadow a shade too dark, and sighs.  
  
“-tt-“ He starts dismissively, “this is becoming immensely tedious.” It is true. The last time Damian had been in Gotham he’d seriously considered just killing the man and being done with it. Two decades of this is quite enough.  
  
The Batman steps into the pink neon light cast by the casino across the street, “What are you doing in Gotham?” he growls low and menacingly.  
  
Damian smirks cruelly, “Visiting family,” he replies casually, like he’s talking about the weather.  
  
Batman squares his shoulders slightly as his body tenses and he grinds his teeth together.  Damian spares a second to bask in the older man’s discomfort, Batman makes it SO easy to ruffle his feathers, before spreading his feet shoulder-width apart and shifting his body into his fighting stance. His left arm comes up to its proper position while his right lazily rests on the clasp of his green cloak.  
  
“Your move, Gramps.” It isn’t a word Damian would usually use. But it allows him another cruel jab at Batman. Reminding the man behind the cowl that they are blood is always sure way to get the Bat’s blood boiling. Damian, like all offspring, obviously had no control over how he was brought into the world. But Thomas Wayne has never forgiven him for Ra’s and Talia’s sins, even after the two had died.

Somehow Batman’s scowl deepens, “You know you’re not welcome in my city.”

Damian only just manages to not roll his eyes. Apparently, Batman wants to do the whole song and dance while Damian just wants to find a little trouble in a casino not owned by his reluctant relation.

“And you know I don’t care.”

For a moment Damian actually thinks Wayne will call it a night. Every once and a while he is too tired to do more than growl at Damian to conclude his business quickly and get out of town.

Then the wind shifts, and Damian catches the strong, sharp smell of whiskey from the old vigilante. He has just enough time to sigh and unpin his cloak before the Bat leaps at him.

 

 

*               *              *

 

Every single time he walks away from their fights, Damian wonders why he doesn’t just finally kill the old man and be done with it. He feels no familial obligation to keep the pathetic creature alive so every time he leaves, Wayne broken and bleeding on the ground, his heart still beating, Damian considers his motivations. He had once entertained the thought that perhaps, subconsciously, he cares about the man. He had dismissed that notion readily. After all, Damian had killed his other grandfather, a man who had participated in his upbringing, a man Damian had deeply respected, without regret or sentiment.

In the end Damian always circled round to the idea that, deep down, he keeps Batman around because the man is in constant pain, practically begging the world to kill him, and Damian has little interest in showing him even that small mercy.

“TSSSS,” Damian hisses and clutches his side where Wayne had gotten in a lucky jab with a knife. He may be an old drunk with no real chance of winning but the psycho is still a good workout.

Damian walks a couple more blocks before he starts to feel light-headed. He doesn’t need to check his wound to know that he is losing more blood than he would have anticipated.

When he trips over a raised crack in the sidewalk and is too slow to catch his balance he thinks that maybe Wayne’s knife was coated with something. A sedative? Is the crazy asshole trying to kidnap him?

Only a moment after he hits the ground, strong arms are lifting his shoulders, sitting him up. His vision is blurry and he is pretty sure he’s about to fade into unconsciousness. The man holding him up is broad and strong and dressed in black but the bulk isn’t right for Batman, the figure leaner, no mask covering the top half of his face.

 _His incredibly attractive face,_ Damian thinks through the fog. No red lenses blocking out eyes of blue-green fire.

“You ok, man,” the thin, but nicely shaped lips ask. But before Damian can answer, the man’s hands must have found his wound, “Oh my god, we need to get you to a hospital…”

Before Damian can protest, the rough, grating voice of Batman does it for him, “No, I’ll be taking him.”  
  
The pretty but increasingly blurry man doesn’t move, “I don’t think so.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Wayne says as he reaches for Damian. Damian wills his body to move, to not just lay there waiting for Batman to scoop him up, but his body is unresponsive. Probably a paralytic mixed in with that sedative.

The unknown man’s hand shoots up, catching Batman’s wrist which Damian would have expected to result in a scream and a very broken blurry arm. But Wayne seems too stunned that some civilian would grab him to react.

“I don’t know who this person is, or what he’s done to catch your interest, but I know how you work,” the man says in a low, dark voice that sends a shiver down Damian’s spine, “and I’m not letting him go with you.”

There is a sudden flurry of movement above him and Damian, no longer supported by that strong arm, slams back into the concrete. Batman has the man by the collar, right hand pulled back ready to strike. Damian hears a murmur spread through a crowd of people he hadn’t realized is watching.

“This isn’t the hill you want to die on, _Todd_ ,” Batman all but whispers and Damian is surprised at the tone of familiarity.

“Every hill in _your_ way is a hill worth dying on,” Todd responds, equally quiet, so that the crowd can’t hear, “I don’t fear death, Batman.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Damian can see Wayne’s fist tighten in the man’s—Todd’s—collar, the other flexes, preparing to swing.

“What are you gonna do, old man,” Todd taunts, “Beat a priest to death on the street, in front of all these nice people so that you can abduct this kid?” Even paralyzed and on the verge of passing out Damian rankles at being called a kid. Todd the priest can’t be that much older than him.

“I’ve done worse with larger audiences,” Batman growls low and menacingly.

“If you’re trying to intimidate me you should know better.”

Batman glares half a moment longer before releasing his grip on the man’s collar. The priest tumbles to the ground, landing hard on his knees. He sucks air in between his teeth but makes no other acknowledgment of pain. Damian is finding himself impressed by this Todd person.

Batman grips the priest’s hair jerking his head back to look into his eyes, neck arched and exposed, and Damian shudders again as the blood loss and the drugs make the image of the two men much dirtier in his mind than is remotely necessary. His brain helpfully replaces Batman’s substantial bulk with his own and Damian, drugged and injured, finds himself unable to control the self-satisfied little smile that comes to his lips.

Batman’s free hand twitches like he wants to move it toward the priest. Instead he leans in and whispers something into the man’s ear. He spares a look of pure contempt at Damian’s motionless body and disappears into the thick forest of glass and steel and limestone that makes up Gotham City.

“Ok, kid, you’re not looking well at all. Let’s get you to that hospital.”

“ _NO,_ ” Damian gasps, barely able to form words let alone complete sentences, “…find me… he’ll… find…” and with that Damian gives into the creeping darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)


	2. Terms of Existence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian doesn’t ever remember not getting something he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

When Damian wakes he is alone in a small, strange room. He is in a queen bed with rough sheets, firm pillows, and a simple quilt that looks handmade. There is a door just to the left of the crucifix that hangs on the wall beyond the foot of the bed; another door to the right of the bed just past a simple wood dresser. Damian assumes one leads to an on-suite and the other to the rest of the building. A threadbare rug peeks out from under the bed on all sides, slightly too small for the space but it covers enough of the beat-up wood flooring to warm the place up. The faded reds, greens, and yellows of the rug are the only splashes of color in the room save a worn green hardcover sitting on the nightstand.

Damian tries to sit up, cringes when he bends his abdomen, and collapses back onto the pillows. He manages to pull himself to a semi-sitting/lounging position using the pillows to support a comfortable recline.

He notices a glass of water just beyond the book and retrieves it without a second’s hesitation. As he sips the contents he glances around the room again, looking for something interesting; or at least his clothes, as it has just occurred to him that the soft, loose pants he is wearing under the covers are much more comfortable than the impeccably tailored slacks he’d been wearing earlier.

The room is… spartan. There aren’t any posters or art or random nick-knacks; nothing that gives him any information on the priest.

Unable to get up, or rather, unwilling to do so, and with nothing else to occupy his mind, Damian grabs the book from the nightstand and carelessly flips open the cover and blank pages to the title page. His hand pauses as he reads the title of book, “Thus Spoke Zarathustra”.  Nietzsche is an interesting choice for a religious type. Damian tucks this little interesting factoid away for later consideration and is about to turn the page and begin reading when the rest of the copy information catches his eye. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline and he turns the book over to inspect the cover more closely before returning to the interior. This looks…

The door to the right opens and Todd pauses at the frame, giving Damian a too-genuine smile.

“Oh, good, you’re up. If you’d stayed passed out too much longer I wasn’t gonna have any choice but to take you to the hospital. How do you feel?”

“Stiff. Sore. Furious at myself for underestimating that old bastard,” Damian says, more honestly than he’d intended but at least he’d managed not to spit out that he thinks his heart stopped when the priest smiled. Todd is even more beautiful now that he isn’t drugged with blurry vision. His eyes look a little bluer than Damian remembers them appearing last night; his hair jet black with a white streak shoved back off his forehead. He is tall and even if Damian hadn’t felt those arms around him last night he’d be able to tell the priest is fit and muscular under his cassock (which Damian appreciates more than the slacks and button-down look that is more common in the US… if only because it reminds him more of the tunics and styles that he is familiar with).

“Hmm,” Todd hums as he approaches the bed, his smile falling into something sadder or contemplative; the nuances of facial expressions are not Damian’s strength. “He can be… difficult.”

He pulls back the covers just enough to check Damian’s wound which pulls Damian’s attention away from gazing at the other man’s face, trying to analyze just how he knew Batman and what kind of relationship that had been. A flash of an emotion passes through him, hot and angry and Damian is a little surprised to recognize the feeling as jealousy. What the hell is happening to him? This priest is hardly the only attractive person Damian has ever met. 

“It wasn’t too deep and didn’t get anything important,” Todd says, referring to the wound but Damian swallows hard at how much he wants to hear that in reference to the obvious familiarity between him and Wayne. “Just a few stitches to be safe.”

Damian glances down at those words to look at the priest’s work. The stitches are just as good as Damian himself could have done.

“I was more worried about whatever drugs he tipped his knife with. You were dead to the world and couldn’t move. I imagine that’s why you’re so stiff.”

“That is perhaps one reason,” Damian says before he can stop himself, unable to keep back a wicked smirk.

Todd’s hands pause in the middle of reapplying the gauze. His eyes meet Damian’s. Damian feels his joke become a little truer when he sees the blush that turns Todd’s cheeks the most adorable shade of pink, highlighting a light smattering of freckles that Damian hadn’t noticed before.

The priest huffs out a little laugh and goes back to tending Damian’s wound. Damian watches him in silence for a moment. He is surprised at how comfortable it is, even after his inappropriate remark.

“My name is Damian,” he says when Todd finishes wrapping him up and pulls the quilt back up Damian’s abs.

“Hello, Damian,” he greets with another sincere smile, “I’m Father Todd or Jason, whichever you prefer. Some people are more comfortable with tradition and formalities and others with familiarity and casualness.”

Damian can think of many things he wants to call the priest and many more he’d like to hear the priest call him and most of them have nothing to do with their names (though a couple spin out of ‘Father’ quite nicely). He also doesn’t particularly want to call him something everyone else does.

“I’ll just stick with Todd,” Damian says, tone leaving no room for debate, “I’m not Catholic, or even Christian, so I don’t feel any need to address you with a formal title, but I’ll not feign or force a familiarity neither of us feel for the sake of comfort.”

Jason’s eyebrows rise while Damian speaks, the small smile reaching his eyes which crinkle in amusement. Damian can’t remember the last time he’d spoken with someone so open with their emotions.

“Todd is fine,” he says, “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need, Damian.”

“I suppose you want me to tell you about my quarrel with Batman,” Damian asks, having no intention of doing any such thing but wanting the get the inevitable conversation out of the way.

Jason tilts his head at Damian, “Not unless you want to,” he says softly, sincerity flooding out of every word, every facial expression, every movement.

Damian blinks in surprise.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable talking about, Damian. I have enough of my own experience with the Batman that explanations are unnecessary; welcome, if you want to share or feel it will help you to get off your chest, but certainly not mandatory.”

Jason smiles at him again and Damian is hit with the sudden urge to tell the man his entire life’s story, only barely managing to bite back the start of his tale. Todd gives Damian’s thigh a pat through the blanket as he stands.

“I’ll go get you some more water and something to eat. Do you have any food allergies?”

Again, Damian is taken aback by the consideration this man continues to show.

“I—I don’t want to be an imposition but I—I’m vegetarian.” He doesn’t want to put Todd out anymore than he already has.

“It’s not an imposition, Damian,” Todd smiles, “I’ll bring you something appropriate.”

And with that Father Todd leaves Damian alone, analyzing just what it is about the way the priest says his name that makes his skin tingle.

 

*              *              *

 

It isn’t long before Jason returns with several vegan options for Damian to choose from.

“Vegetable curry, eggplant parmesan, tofu and black bean burger,” Todd says pointing to each in turn, “So what’s it gonna be?”  
  
“It all smells amazing…” Damian says, eyeing the burger.

“Thanks. The cook’s pretty awesome,” Jason replies with a smirk and wink.

“You made all this?” Damian asks with a note of incredulity. He can make serviceable versions of his favorite one or two dishes but cooking is largely a skill that eludes him. 

“It’s relaxing,” Jason shrugs.

Damian doesn’t press and reaches for the burger. Todd picks up the eggplant as he sits on the edge of the bed, by Damian’s ankles, and they take a few bites in silence.

It is exceptional. Damian’s instinct had been to go with the curry, it is one of his favorite foods and, when made right, can transport him back to his childhood. But he’d decided, in the spirit of the unusual occasion he would select the least familiar option. He is not disappointed. The burger is outstanding on a freshly baked vegan brioche, but it’s the sweet potato fries Jason had put on the side that makes Damian’s mouth water.

“You’re quite skilled,” Damian compliments.

“Thank you,” Jason mutters through another blush. Damian smirks. He likes that look on the priest; resolves to make it happen as often as possible.

As they finish their meals and Jason moves the curry to a position midway between them so they can split it, Damian nods at the book on the nightstand, “So,” he begins, unsure of exactly how to word things without being insulting, “first edition Nietzsche…”

Todd looks up from the bowl, still chewing, and waits for Damian to make a point.

“It’s just not something one would expect to find in the home of a priest; certainly not the book, or any of his books, but a first edition is… well it suggests that the book is meaningful to you, important enough to merit the extra expense.”

Jason finishes chewing, slowly Damian notices, swallows, and sets his fork in the bowl, before looking back to Damian and sighing.

“It’s just the first edition of the first English translation,” he starts quietly, “And it was a gift. A not so subtle, very pointed gift.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to,” Damian offers against every instinct he has that wants him to push. Unlike the priest, Damian isn’t a good, kind, or considerate man; he is an assassin, the head of an international terrorist organization responsible for the deaths of, well thousands just since he’d taken over. He is the Demon’s Head, for Christ’s sake, sitting in a priest’s bed in the rectory of a Catholic Church. He wants more from Father Todd than a story. He wants to pull the man down into the filth with him, watch his beautiful face beg for the ruin Damian will offer. And the only path Damian sees to accomplishing that goal is by going against his tendency to demand and control.

“It’s alright,” Jason says, looking at his fingers. Damian takes the opportunity to give himself a self-satisfied smirk. “It’s just… a… friend gave the book to me when I told him I was joining the Church. He… he wasn’t exactly supportive of the decision.”

“A _friend_?” Damian asks skeptically, the way Jason said the word, hesitantly and with a flicker of pain and regret in his eyes, makes the truth of the statement abundantly clear.

The look Jason levels at Damian is challenging; jaw set, eyes hard, daring Damian to pass judgement.

Damian raises his hands, palms facing the priest, placatingly, “Please, I hit on you earlier, I’m certainly not judging,” Damian says. Jason’s expression softens and he huffs out a little laugh before looking down at his hands again while Damian continues, “I’m just wondering how you justify your… preferences with your religion,” Damian finishes.

“Well, for one, I don’t feel I need to justify anything to anyone other than God. The scriptures, though perhaps divinely inspired, were still written by men. Fallible men, sinful men, with their own biases and prejudices dictated by the culture and the times. I believe those men cared more about who their neighbors were sleeping with than our Father, creator of a universe full of creatures of such diversity that human minds can barely fathom,” Jason smiles softly and shrugs, “And on the off chance that God finds my attraction to other men sinful, well, all humans sin. All humans fall and fail in ways as equally diverse as the life in the universe, and God forgives.”

“I can’t believe you would follow a God from whom you would need forgiveness for something over which you have no control,” Damian responds, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

“That is not what I said, Damian,” Jason corrects patiently, like he’s not unfamiliar with the course of the conversation, “I said that, like what we eat or where we worship or how we pray or the role of women, I don’t believe that God cares about the specifics as much as we do.”

“But if you’re wrong, he’ll forgive you,” Damian stubbornly points out.

“If I’m wrong, I expect God also knows how much easier life would have been if I’d been… normal. I expect God remembers my tearful pleas to be attracted to the girl next door and not her brother. I expect our omnipotent Creator to recognize that I am how He made me.”

“And if you’re wrong about that?”

“Ultimately, it’s not something I can know until it’s too late to have lived my life differently. I can only live my life based on the things I know and the things I believe. I know I can’t change and I’m confident that God is at least as good as the best of men. And if I’m wrong about that then it’s fine that I won’t get into His heaven.”

Damian threads his fork through his fingers, silently mulling over Jason’s words. He isn’t completely convinced but he likes the kind of thinking that brought the priest to his conclusions. It makes him so much more interesting.

“And the book?” Damian asks a bit tentatively.  
  
“Ah, yes. Sorry,” Jason chuckles, “I don’t want to bore you with the whole story…”

“I doubt any part of your story would be boring. And I appreciate having the history necessary to provide context. Incomplete information isn’t conducive to forming an opinion.”

“Alright then,” Jason smiles, “My life as a kid wasn’t exactly good or nice. My dad was abusive and was killed by the criminal he worked for when he tried to double cross him. My stepmom overdosed, and I just kept waiting for her to wake up before I finally called the cops a day later. When they came I hid; didn’t want to go into the system. So, I spent a few years on the streets stealing, developing my own drug habit, before I got involved with a cult. That’s when I met Thomas…”

Damian chokes on his water. That can’t be a coincidence.

Todd’s hand moves to rest on Damian’s knee, concern flooding eyes suddenly more green than blue; more like Damian remembers from last night. Damian waves him off, “I’m fine. Went down the wrong pipe. Please continue.”

“Thomas was undercover in the cult, not for any altruistic reasons, the cult was starting to negatively impact his business,” Jason shifts uncomfortably, it is clear that he’s trying not to give away too much. “And I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable with the things we were doing. That’s more or less how Thomas and I… got together. I’d been there longer, had the access he needed and he was… a force of nature.”

Jason shrugs, perhaps a little self-consciously. Damian feels a rush of sympathy for the priest. He is obviously still trying to decide if he had been used. Knowing Thomas Wayne the way Damian does, he suspects that Jason’s fears are well-founded.

“Anyway, in the end, I died,” Todd says, completely nonchalant and rushing to continue, heading off any comments Damian may want to make. Damian doesn’t mind, he will definitely circle back to that if he needs to. “For whatever reason, death didn’t stick. When I came back, I found Thomas. He… he tried to help. Seemed happy that I had returned. But he also got so… melancholy, I guess. He’d lock himself in his… lab, for days with samples of my blood. In the meantime, I was feeling increasingly lonely and lost. I needed to do something. I’d been given a second chance and I wanted to make it count, do the good I didn’t do the first time around. Maybe help prevent some kids from making the same mistakes I did.”

Jason is pressing his right thumb into his left palm, wringing his hands. “It was hard; leaving him. He laughed at me when I told him it was a sacrifice I had to make. I was young and he… was not. It made me question my decisions in the early days. One day, about a year into my training, I got back to my room and the book was there. It was one of the things we’d bonded over before I’d died. Literature. Philosophy. There was a note inside the cover,” Jason reaches over, opens the book to where a slip of thick paper is acting as bookmark. Damian sees the flash of his grandfather’s handwriting before Jason reads aloud, “‘When you realize what a huge mistake you’ve made, you’re always welcome to come home,’” Jason laughs, “It sounded so condescending and so…”

“Disapprovingly parental,” Damian finishes for him.

Jason smiles sadly.

“Yeah. It pissed me off. But it also made me determined to see this through.”

They sit in silence for a while. Damian really wants to dive into the whole death and resurrection thing. He _really_ wants to tease the priest about the obvious comparison with his religion’s savior. Maybe make another inappropriate joke about a second coming.

Jason has just shared some deeply personal things with Damian. Against his better judgement, Damian decides to tell the man about his own issues. If nothing else, it will make Todd feel a sense of solidarity and comradery that Damian is sure will only help his future plans.

He’s decided his _wants_ this man. And Damian doesn’t ever remember not getting something he wanted.

“So that’s the start of your problems with Batman,” Damian says it like a statement, not a question, just to see Todd’s reaction.

The priest stays a lot calmer than Damian had expected. He just looks up at Damian, eyes not unkind but firm when he says, “The start of my ongoing issues with my ex who lives in Gotham. Batman is—”

“Batman is Thomas Wayne,” Damian says, not taking his eyes off Jason’s. Jason shifts, sitting up straighter, holding Damian’s gaze, waiting for him to continue. “Which you know; because he’s also Thomas your ex, who brought down Brother Blood and his cult years ago. Through some incredibly unfortunate and possibly psychologically scarring circumstances, he’s my grandfather,” he finishes.

Jason’s eyes go wide and his mouth hangs open; just a little, just enough to draw Damian’s attention to his lips and the hint of tongue just behind white teeth. Damian had intended to elaborate, but he is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to do something else; something a lot more fun.

Damian, ignoring the pain in his side, surges forward and grabs Todd by the collar. He takes exactly one second to enjoy the priest’s eyes going even wider, the surprised inhalation Todd manages before Damian presses his lips to the other man’s with bruising force.

Jason doesn’t reciprocate and when Damian feels hands on his biceps gently trying to push him back he growls, twisting his other hand in the fabric of Jason’s clothes, and uses his greater strength to flip Todd onto his back, his head on the pillow Damian had been using to prop himself up, hips trapped between Damian’s legs.

“Wai—”

Damian uses the opening to shove his tongue into Todd’s mouth, swiping across his teeth before delving deeper. He knows the little bite Jason gives is meant to be a warning, to get him to stop, but it just spurs him on, making the heat in his belly rachet up a few degrees; making him hungrier. Jason pushes on his shoulders, trying to get Damian off him but Damian is bigger, stronger, uses his weight to press Jason into the mattress.

The hand twisted in Todd’s collar stays while the other goes to the hem of the cassock, pulling it up as he moves his hand up the priest’s thigh to the waistband of the slacks underneath. Their cocks are lined up and Damian gives in to the urge to thrust forward. The combined movements inspire Jason to shove at Damian harder, throwing his own not insubstantial weight into it and twisting his head, managing to get his mouth free of Damian’s.

“Stop,” Jason gasps, struggling between catching his breath and making his reluctance perfectly clear, “ _Please_ …” he supplicates, “Don’t—”

Damian gives in to the pleas and sits back on his haunches, unwilling to cease straddling the man. Jason props himself up on his elbows.

“You know that’s not ok,” Todd starts, still calm, voice devoid of the anger he has every right to feel. Damian suspects it has less to do with Todd’s physical reaction, which is… encouraging, and more to do with the fact that the priest believes Damian can be reasoned with.

Before Jason can continue, Damian reaches out and catches the man’s jaw in his grip. Now Todd’s eyes flash with anger but he goes still in a way that makes Damian think Todd’s trying to avoid provoking him to do anything more.

Damian stares into Todd’s eyes and pulls his face close enough to feel the warms puffs of breath escaping from between his lips.

“I’ll not force you into anything,” Damian says quietly, and the statement gets him a look of indignant disbelief. Fair enough. “But soon you _will_ be mine to have as I wish.”

Damian feels the involuntary shudder roll through Jason’s body. Todd blushes crimson and Damian gives him a wicked grin, eyes remaining fixed on Jason’s.

“Please get off of me,” Jason says with firm conviction. Damian swings his left leg around so that he’s sitting on the bed. Todd scrambles off the edge and smooths down his cassock.

He shoots Damian a sad, weirdly sympathetic glance then says, “All things considered, you seem well enough to go home. I’ll have Father Williams bring your cleaned clothes. Take your time getting yourself together.”

He walks to the door, opens it, then pauses. He turns back to Damian.

“You should try to stay away from him. The terms of your existence aren’t your fault but…” Todd hesitates, ever considerate and kind, “He hates you for the loss you represent. I don’t think it’s something he’ll ever find the strength to forgive.”

Father Todd closes the door behind him. Leaving Damian to consider the implications of the fact that Thomas Wayne had cared enough about Todd to tell him his most painful secrets. A world of possibilities, of opportunities, opens to Damian.

 _This is going to be fun_ , Damian thinks as he moves to the edge of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, because of the fact Thomas was an adult when Bruce was killed it didn't take him nearly as long to become Batman as it did for Bruce. As such, Ra's and Talia were aware of him much earlier and grossly only waited for Talia to just be old enough to be a mother. So Damian is probably around the same age as Jason, give or take a year or so.


	3. Threats and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian vs. Thomas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

Over the next few months Damian makes a point of being in Gotham more frequently. It’s doing wonders for his stateside interests; not to mention his personal project.

He had decided to take Todd’s advice and avoid Batman when at all possible. Not that he’d ever really gone looking for the man in the past, but he’d never actively tried to circumvent any probable confrontations either. Why would he? He always had the upper hand. He only did it now to show the priest that he valued his opinion.

And Damian wasn’t entirely sure that was strictly a manipulation.

Things with Jason were progressing better than Damian could have hoped after his—forwardness. He finds himself confiding in and seeking advice from the man more often than he has from any other person in his life; perhaps even more than he had from his mother. When Damian is in town he meets with Todd several times a week for coffee or lunch—at first on the pretense that Damian was apologetic about his forcefulness, but it soon evolved into a surprisingly easy friendship, even though they both knew Damian’s end game wasn’t BFF’s.

The priest was a credit to his profession, in Damian’s less than humble opinion; forgiving, understanding, and for some reason seemingly convinced that Damian was not beyond ‘saving’.

Damian had been irritated when Todd had first suggested he needed saving. On some level Damian knew the man must think that and, if he was honest with himself (which he always tried to be, even if he never voiced the thoughts aloud), Damian knew that he wasn’t considered particularly ‘good’ by any commonly held moral standard. As far as most religions were concerned, his soul definitely needed rescuing.

But the world is a dark, cruel, and unforgiving place where mythological warrior women battle mythological sea dwellers for dominion, the planet dying in the wake of their supernatural war. Damian agrees that someone needs saving. He’s one hundred percent certain that that person is not him.

Father Todd has denied himself the joys of life in a misguided attempt to pay his good fortune forward. Misguided because surely it would have been easier to help the troubled youth of the city with access to Thomas Wayne’s wealth. Damian suspects there had been more to that separation than Todd had been willing to share.

He’s sure he’ll be able to get the whole story from the priest eventually.

Damian’s pleased smirk disappears from his face as the door to the café chimes to announce a new patron and it isn’t the pretty priest he’s supposed to be meeting.

The restaurant stops as everyone stares. Wayne is somehow even more imposing outside of his ridiculous bat themed armor. The sleek Brioni does little to hide his iron physique. His bulk fills the doorway and casts a long shadow across the black and white tiled floor as he removes his sunglasses and runs a hand through his windswept salt-and-pepper hair.

Damian is seated at a small table in the corner to Wayne’s right and he has the sudden urge to duck behind the espresso bar before the older man’s eyes reach him. This is wildly unfamiliar territory. Damian has _never_ spoken to Thomas Wayne, not once in his entire life. He’s only _ever_ interacted with Batman.

The uncertainty and indecision that washes through him as Wayne locates him and makes his way over is also a new sensation. For the first time in Damian’s memory, he doesn’t know what to do.

Since he can’t decide whether to move or not he ends up staying in his seat. And since he’s skilled at controlling everything from his emotions to what would be considered involuntary muscle contractions, he gazes up at his grandfather with unconcerned arrogance, reclined in his chair, right ankle resting on his left knee, fingers of his left hand idly playing with the handle of the mug holding his oolong.

Wayne glares at him for a moment before lowering himself onto the other chair with more grace than one would expect from such a large man. The café has resumed business, but customers and employees alike keep casting furtive glances to their corner.

Damian waits. Inwardly, even if he wanted to say something, he wouldn’t know where or how to begin. He’s way out of his element. Outwardly Damian smiles, cocks his head, and raises a brow, inviting Wayne to do whatever he came here to do. Damian can’t decide if the older man was trying to catch him off guard or—

Wayne, sitting straight and stiff, inhales deeply, steeling himself.

“What do you want with the priest?” he spits out, low and gravelly. Not quite Batman’s voice, but Damian doubts it’s the same tone the man uses to sweet talk high rollers in his casinos.

After what Todd had told him, Damian had expected this conversation; eventually... maybe after he’d gained a little more ground with Father Todd, and he’d always anticipated being confronted by Batman, protector of the people. Broaching the subject as Thomas Wayne, ex-lover, seemed… vulnerable of Wayne.

Damian’s smile widens into something genuine as his anxiety passes, “I fail to see how that’s any of your concern.”

Wayne just looks at him, blue eyes boring into his soul, none of the usual contempt and gruffness clouding his aged but still handsome features. Damian feels unnerved, once again unprepared for this less antagonistic encounter.

“Look,” Wayne begins, shifting uneasily, and the blatant show of just that slight emotion, without even an attempt to conceal it, makes Damian certain he must have fallen into some alternate dimension or something, “I’m going to be straight with you. Threats have never worked on you before, so I don’t expect them to now. I’ve never tried another way because frankly, I’ve never cared enough to figure out one.”

Thomas pauses and looks Damian in the eye. The message is clear. Wayne has never cared enough about _Damian_ to try for anything more than their contentious relationship.

“It’ll come as no surprise to you that your existence enrages me,” he continues, hands clinching into fists on the table, “I know you had no part in it and that those who did are dead, but I have no interest in quelling that feeling. I satisfy and cope with that rage through violence, which I’m sure, given your upbringing, you do not begrudge me.”

Damian opens his mouth to say that, actually, he begrudges Thomas Wayne most things but, thankfully before he can get out so much as a word of his true feelings, Wayne raises a hand to cut him off, preventing Damian from giving away more than he wants.

“Let me finish before you comment,” Damian closes his mouth and scowls at the older man, making it clear that he’s being silent because it suits him, not because Wayne gave him an order.

Wayne smirks at the display before his face falls into something serious and hard with a hint of danger, “There are very few things in this world about which I give a damn. Jason is one them.”

Damian raised his eyebrows in surprise. If he hadn’t already known that, Wayne would have just volunteered an incredibly useful piece of information.

Thomas Wayne just waves his hand in dismissal, “You’re a smart man, you know I keep an eye on you and your interests. Especially when you’re in Gotham. Your sudden fascination with Catholicism is…” he shrugs, “noticeable. For a man who’s never practiced any religion, so far as I can tell, your newfound devotion to weekly sermons is… noticeable. The large donations to the church over the last few months and the level of…” Wayne pauses and chews on his words, gaze hardening again, and chokes out “ _access_ that affords you is noticeable. When I confronted Jason, he told me the truth, that he knows who you are; that he told you more than he should have about… us.”

Damian had intended to let the man finish, uninterrupted, as Wayne had requested, but he couldn’t resist saying, “I think we both know it’s not just my money that’s affording me _access_. If it were just my money, you wouldn’t feel the need to speak to me.”

Wayne sits perfectly still. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing as he stares into Damian’s eyes.

“Allow me to be perfectly clear,” Wayne says, quiet and deadly, “If you harm him in any way; if you so much as touch the air he exhales without his explicit permission, I will rip your spine from your body and watch the light leave your eyes as you pass from this world in extreme agony. You’ll be dead long before they get you to one of your magical green pits.”

It’s Damian’s turn to still; tense, ready to do battle. There’s ice in his green eyes as he meets Wayne’s glare with his own.

“Since you were courteous enough to be clear with me, allow me to return the favor,” Damian says, eyes wide with hate, lips upturned in dark humor, “You want to know what I want with the priest?” Damian leans in and drops his voice to a terrifying whisper. “I’m going to _own_ him. I’m going to reach out and take his hands in mine, cradle his face in my palms, get my fingers in his hair and sweep it back from his face. I’m going to invade his space so that all he can see and smell is me. I’m going to seduce him. And _when **he** begs _ me, I’ll bend him over that stupid altar and fuck him into the stone until he screams my name. Then, with my cum still inside him, I’m going to take him home with me, chain him naked to my bed, and use him whenever I please, whenever he begs me to take him. I’m going to corrupt him. Drag him into the darkness with me. It will be beautiful; divine. And there isn’t a goddamned thing you’ll be able to do about it, not just because I’d kill you if we ever fought for those kinds of stakes, but because your precious priest is going to ask me for everything that I do to him. And it’ll break you.”

The hatred in the air between them is palpable. Damian knows in his soul that neither of them has ever hated anyone more than they do each other in this moment. Damian is not the man that shot Wayne’s son. He’s not the man who stole the boy’s blood. But Damian is the man born from that blood, a living, breathing representation of that loss. And Damian is the man who is taking the one thing Wayne allowed himself to love since that tragic night. And Wayne? Damian doesn’t have a tragic history filled with people who deserve his ire. But he hates Wayne for hating him, for blaming him for existing.

They’re so caught up in their mutual contempt, their silent battle of wills across a bistro table, that they don’t notice the door jingle. They don’t notice the look of surprise and worry that flashes across Father Todd’s face as he sees Damian and recognizes his unexpected guest. They still don’t notice him when he approaches the table and stands beside it, both men assuming the presence is a waiter who will soon scurry off.

Jason clears his throat and offers a tentative, “What’s going on?”

Both heads snap up to look at him. He blinks and takes a small step back, the intense rage blazing in green eyes and blue still there for a moment before simmering down to something softer as they recognize him. Both pairs of eyes still heated but now a different kind.

Jason swallows hard and both sets of eyes flicker to his throat. He shifts uncomfortably and focuses on the table between them for a moment before looking up at Thomas, not meeting his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” He says softly, calmly, a tone meant to placate and soothe.

Thomas doesn’t answer, just stands and Jason shifts back to give him room. Damian’s struck by how small Todd looks next to the older man. The priest is broad and over 6ft, though not by much, and Wayne looms over him by several inches in height and width. Damian knows he’s a bit bigger than Todd as well, but he also knows it’s not by that much.

The glances their direction are much less furtive now.

Thomas just looks at Jason for a moment, like he’s the only person in the room, before putting his hand on the younger man’s shoulders. Damian can’t help but notice that Todd won’t meet Thomas eyes and the way his shoulders are slumped a little and his left hand picks at the wood on the table… it’s almost like he feels guilty… caught.

Damian smothers a grin at the realization just in case Todd glances his way.

Wayne’s right hand moves up and rests lightly on Jason’s neck as he leans in to press a gentle, chaste kiss on the priest’s forehead.

Damian’s a little less smug about the way Todd’s eyes flutter closed.

Then Wayne squeezes his shoulder and turns toward the door.

Todd takes a shaky breath and sits in the now vacant seat. With his back to the door and his eyes on the menu, he doesn’t see Thomas look back at them, but Damian does.

One corner of Damian’s mouth curls in a vicious sneer as he reaches out and takes Todd’s hands in his own, just like he’d promised. His smile’s softened by the time the priest looks up at him, a little surprised at first. Damian knows Wayne sees Jason relax into it before he disappears into the world outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realize that this chapter kinda makes it seem like Damian is using Jason to piss off Thomas but Damian really just considers that a perk. He likes Jason, probably more than he's ever liked anyone. He just also REALLY likes to get under Thomas's skin. Also, I'm so sorry. I honestly thought there would be actual sex in this chapter and I almost kept going just to get it in there but it didn't feel right to rush it. So... I'm, like, 95% sure there will be sexy times in the next chapter. 
> 
> There's also some things I really like about this chapter and some things I'm not crazy about. Let me know what you think.


	4. The Demon's Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's totally in control. He's definitely not tempted. No need to panic.
> 
> Jason's POV
> 
> (First part of this is a flashback to the confrontation with Jason that Thomas mentioned in the last chapter. The "PRESENT" picks up where Chapter 3 left off. Sorry for any confusion).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo..... In my defense, I wrote most of the next chapter before I realized that I needed this one for, ya know, story and character reasons. There's no sex here, mostly just a confrontation between Jason and Thomas and Jason adorably trying to resist Damian. BUT because I felt super bad about that, I'm posting the next chapter too. There IS sex in that one ;)
> 
> Thanks for your patience.

2 DAYS AGO

 

Damian is back in Gotham after being away for nearly two weeks and Jason hates that it’s felt like much longer; hates that he’s counted the days; hates that he’s missed the man this much.

The first thing Damian does after landing is call Jason to let him know he’s back and work out a time to meet. Damian has business all day tomorrow so it will have to be the day after, “unless you want to come to the penthouse for a sleepover,” Damian offers, voice all velvet and sin. Jason, in the privacy of his room, blushes and politely refuses. Which is a lot harder to do than it should be.

 

YESTERDAY

 

Damian leaves a voicemail asking to move their lunch tomorrow to an early dinner suggesting they meet at a café closer to the church and Jason texts him back that it’s fine. Damian won’t say it, but Jason knows the change of venue is to account for how much later Jason will be heading back, that Damian’s worried for his safety on the street after dark. Jason can take care of himself, but he thinks it’s very considerate of Damian.

He spends most of the day distracted. He had to ask one kindly older woman to repeat her confession… twice. He apologized and explained that he just wasn’t feeling himself today. She had patted his hand, told him to have a hot cup of tea with honey, and to try not to stress himself. God provides, she said, and Jason’s first thought is _God provided Damian_. After sunset he decides he will get a tea and some fresh, crisp, autumn air. He puts on his coat but leaves his scarf, he won’t be gone long, and walks two blocks to his favorite little hole in the wall coffee shop.

He’s in trouble and he knows it. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way. He’d known what Damian wanted from the beginning; never even considered he would be tempted, especially after the incident in his bedroom.

When he was a child, living on the streets of the worst city in the world, men had tried to force themselves on him. He’d always been quick enough when he was younger, big enough after he hit puberty, and clever enough the whole time, to get away. The memory of Damian throwing him down onto his own bed and almost—well, it makes him shudder, but not in the way it should, not in the way he tried to convince himself it did.

The cute raven-haired barista with a perpetually sincere grin winks a sparkling blue eye at him as he hands Jason his tea. The man is always flirtatious. Jason’s used to it, but for some reason, this time he blushes. He mutters an embarrassed ‘thank you’ and pretends not to notice the barista’s grin widen in amusement.

He huffs in frustration as he definitely doesn’t flee out of the shop. If he was going to be in this predicament, why couldn’t it at least be with someone like the happy barista; someone bright and cheerful. Normal. He doesn’t know what it says about him that he’s attracted to dangerous men who can so easily throw him around.

Jason still isn’t sure what it is that Damian does, what his business is. Thomas had left out many of the more specific details when he’d confided in Jason the events that led to his having a grandson and Damian had always just smiled mischievously whenever Jason asked. Jason’s sure it isn’t good, whatever it is. It seems to be the one thing Thomas and Damian can agree on, that Damian is not a good person.

His tea has only just cooled enough to drink by the time he’s back at the church so he passes it by, still lost in his own thoughts.

Jason’s not blind. He sees the darkness in Damian. Saw it that first day; knows that Damian’s intentions toward him are… carnal. He knows that Damian wants more than just his friendship. He can see the heat in the other man’s eyes every time he meets that confident, steel gaze. He’d told himself he could use that to help Damian be… more; to draw out more of the goodness that had held Damian back when they met, the kindness and empathy he’d seen Damian demonstrate toward animals and children, the generosity Damian shows toward the homeless and unfortunate.

He’s not sure he’s helped Damian. But he is pretty sure that Damian has pulled him over the edge of a cliff.

It’s mostly dark now and Jason realizes he’s wandered further from the church than intended. He could get home faster if he took the alley, but this is Gotham and Jason’s not stupid or suicidal. Still, he’s not in the best part of town and there aren’t very many people out. He’s not particularly surprised when two men with knives corner him. He put his hands up, palms out.

“Guys,” he says, and waves a hand down toward his outfit. He’d gone with just the slacks and collared shirt today and it was absolutely not because he was saving the cassock for his meeting with Damian, “I’m a priest. You can have what I’ve got but it isn’t much.”

“Maybe it’s not your money we want, beautiful,” one of them leers lasciviously. The other shoots his friend a look that clearly says he just wants the cash.

Jason only just manages to not roll his eyes. He’s pretty sure it’s just a threat meant to freak him out. He raises his eyebrows and says, “You want the wallet or not?” and starts to move his right hand to his back pocket.

The movement makes them anxious so Jason stops and says, “It’s ok, I’m just a priest, I’m not armed. I have $11 and some change. It’s not worth dying or killing over. It’s fine.”

They look at each other and relax just a little. But before they can do anything else the one who’d threatened him disappears with a surprised grunt. The other has just a moment to glance around, terrified, before a heavy fist knocks him out cold with a single strike.

This time Jason does roll his eyes and starts walking down the alley. He feels his stalker follow.

“I had it,” he says, and it comes out a little more pouty than he’d like, “I don’t need your protection.”

The same hand that knocked the mugger out grips Jason’s upper arm tightly and pulls him around to face those red lenses.

He hates the way his traitorous stomach does a backflip.

“I know you don’t _need_ it,” Batman growls, “But you can’t ask me not to give it anyway.”

He’s still gripping Jason’s arm, tightly, like he can’t bring himself to let go. Jason looks anywhere but his face.

“You shouldn’t take the alleys,” Batman says, still not gentle, but definitely softer.

“I wasn’t,” Jason manages the will to gently tug his arm out of Batman’s grasp, “But if you’re going to stalk me I might as well take the fast way home.” Jason turns and starts down the alley again.

A beat. Then…

“Home is the other direction.”

Jason freezes. His first feeling is rage, white hot and blood-boiling. But that’s soon replaced with pain and grief. It’s powerful and overwhelming. The manor _was_ the first place that had ever felt like home. Thomas was the first person he’d ever called family. The only person.

“Don’t,” Jason says, barely above a whisper. He knows Batman can hear him.

“I never asked you to leave, Jason. You—”

“Stop it,” Jason says quietly. It’s true, Thomas had never asked him to leave, but it isn’t the whole story. As hard as it had been, Jason still feels it was the right thing, “We’ve had this conversation bef—”

“I want you to come home.” He’s pressed against Jason’s back now, left hand holding onto Jason’s left shoulder, right arm wrapped around Jason’s chest, restraining Jason’s right arm and clutching the younger man to him.

Jason can smell the leather and the blood and the sweat and it’s intoxicating. But the words? For years, Thomas had tried to manipulate and guilt him into returning, on the occasion he cared to try at all. Thomas would tell him he’d be better off, that it was for his own good, that Thomas would give him whatever he wanted, that it was Jason who’d left and whatever happened was his fault… Never once had Thomas _asked_ and Jason had never expected Thomas to admit to himself that he _wanted_ Jason back, let alone acknowledge it aloud.

Against his will, his body relaxes into the embrace. He sighs, half sad, half content. He’s so confused. He doesn’t know what he wants. Here in Thomas’s arms… it feels right. But then there’s whatever is happening with Damian. And finally, there’s the fact that he shouldn’t even be considering either. Thomas is a little easier though. Jason knows that all the reasons he left are still there, the gauntleted hand on his chest a stark reminder.

“That can’t happen,” he finally answers, brushing his fingers along Batman’s armored glove to emphasize his point.

He can feel Batman’s chest rise and fall, feel his warm breath puff against his ear… feels Batman stiffen, bracing himself.

“Is it…” he can feel Batman’s jaw working, “Is it………  _Damian_?” The name is growled with vitriol.

It’s Jason’s turn to go rigid even as his breathing picks up its pace. He’s not surprised that Thomas has been watching them and in the back of his mind he’d expected to have this conversation. He’s a little surprised Thomas has waited this long.

But mostly? He’s hurt because…

“Is that what it is for you?” Jason accuses, knowing it sounds defensive and deflective, hoping it sounds as wounded as he feels. He tries to pull away so he can look Thomas in the, well, the lenses. Thomas just wraps his other arm around him, pinning him, so Jason’s forced to crane his neck to the side so he can look at Batman over his shoulder, “Is that why you’re here right now? You’re jealous of—“

Before Jason can say Damian’s name a big, leather and metal clad hand leaps up, middle and ring fingers straddling his ear, trapping Jason’s head to Batman’s shoulder, thumb pressed up to the soft spot under his chin, forcing Jason’s head to tilt back further. In the same moment Thomas’s mouth is on his, stubble scrapping his face.

He tastes like expensive bourbon, cheap cigars, and blood; he tastes like home.

It’s almost enough to make Jason forget and a small voice in the back of his mind tells him to just give into it anyway.  

But the voice saying _he’s only here because he hates Damian and doesn’t want him playing with his toys_ is much louder.

For the second time in a handful of months, Jason tries to push away from someone stronger than him. For the second time, his wishes are ignored.

Batman turns him around, somehow without disconnecting their mouths. The hand on his face goes to his throat, thumb and forefinger gripping his jaw. The hand that that spun him slides down Jason’s back, follows the inward curve of his ass, gets a firm hold, and lifts Jason like he isn’t 200lbs. of heavy muscle.

Batman slams him into the grimy wall of the alley, pushing himself between Jason’s legs. With his body keeping Jason against the wall, Batman’s hand leaves his ass and digs his fingers into the back of Jason’s thigh instead.

His head is tilted up and back, exposing his throat, and when Thomas’s mouth leaves Jason’s to tug at his ear and scrape down his neck, the fingers tighten, cutting off Jason’s oxygen. And his ability to speak.

That alone pisses Jason off but then Thomas hums, sucks in the skin, and rolls it between his teeth.

Jason lifts the leg Batman doesn’t have in a vice-like grip (that’s gonna bruise too but at least he can hide those marks) as high as he can before slamming his heel into the other man’s knee.

Batman buckles. When he moves his hand from Jason’s throat to catch himself against the wall Jason gulps down air and coughs from trying to get too much too fast. He takes advantage of Batman’s distraction to pull his leg back to the ground and uses his own strength to shove against a wall of granite muscle to put some distance between them.

“Enough,” he says sharply, voiced raised but not quite yelling, rubbing at his neck. He’s not sure he could yell right now, even if he wanted to with how sore his throat is, but he doesn’t want to attract attention from the windows above. Not that Batman has a reputation that needs protecting. Hearing that Batman was getting pushy with a priest in an alley would probably have most people shrugging their lack of surprise. But this was still Jason’s neighborhood and he doesn’t want to be asked questions that will be so difficult to answer.

Batman has regained his footing and is glaring and scowling at Jason, looking put out. That just makes Jason angrier.

“What were you thinking?” Jason demands and waves a hand at his neck, “How am I supposed to explain that?”

A horrifying thought occurs to him, “Oh fuck! Is there a hand-print?!” A little purple bruise he might be able to hide, even if it is above his collar, but an angry red handprint across the breadth of his neck? No way.

“Tell him whatever you like,” Thomas says, scowl deepening, “I don’t give a damn.”

“What? Who?” Jason’s still a little lightheaded from the oxygen deprivation and he’s focused on his own thoughts and worries, so he’s confused by the comment. When he realizes Thomas is talking about Damian, he fumes.

“Are you fucking serious? I don’t know what you think is happening and I don’t care. And I don’t give shit what Damian thinks about this,” he waves at his neck again, “I’m a fucking priest, Tom!” Batman flinches and Jason doesn’t even feel bad, “I care what Father Williams is going to say if he sees giant, hand shaped, bruise circling my throat. I care what my congregation is going to think if they see a fucking a hickey on my neck.”

Thomas’s scowl turns apologetic with maybe a hint of amusement curling up one corner of his mouth almost imperceptibly. Jason hasn’t sworn this much in years and he knows that Thomas is feeling smug about bringing it out.

Batman moves closer and Jason actually flinches. A pained expression flutters across the unmasked half of Batman’s face, there and gone in a blink. The reaction breaks Jason’s heart a bit too. But Thomas still closes the space, tilts Jason’s chin up, touch feather light, and examines his neck.

“No hand-print,” he says, gently.

Jason sighs in relief. Thomas’s fingers ghost down to where he’d bitten. He presses at the mark lightly.

“Sorry,” he says quietly.

Jason looks up at him. Thomas doesn’t move his hand from resting at the juncture of Jason’s neck and shoulder, thumb still brushing over the bruise.

“I’m sorry too,” Jason says. There’s a lot more Jason wants to say about what just happened but he so tired, he just wants to go home. But there’s something he needs to say first.

Thomas waits patiently for him to explain. Jason sighs.

“Before I knew…” he pauses and rephrases, “I told Damian about us before I knew… before he told me he was…”

Jason doesn’t finish. He knows how Thomas will react if he calls Damian his grandson.

“I told you he was dangerous, Jason,” back to Batman’s low, gravelly rumble, “On the street before you took him in. Why didn’t you listen?”

Jason’s hackles rise, and he tries to quash the sensation. He hates it when Thomas talks to him like he’s a disobedient child.

“I didn’t say your name or mention anything distinguishing… he just… well, he knows you and he’s smart and he heard us talking… it wasn’t hard for him to work out.”

Batman crosses his big arms across the symbol on his chest and frowns. Before he can respond Jason continues.

“At the risk of you freaking out again,” Jason starts hesitantly and shuffles his feet, “I understand your feelings about him; I honestly do—”

“Jason,” Thomas says warningly. Jason just keeps going.

“I understand your pain. It’s not unreasonable or something you can or should just get over. But it isn’t fair to put all that baggage on someone who’s only slight against you was literally being born.”

Thomas just glowers and doesn’t say anything. Jason takes that to mean this encounter is over.

“Maybe… maybe you owe it to yourself to have a real conversation with him,” he hesitates again, reaches out to take one of Batman’s gloved hands and up to cup the exposed cheek beneath the cowl, get his warm skin on Thomas’s to soften what he says next, “Maybe you owe it to your son.”

Thomas goes absolutely rigid and stops breathing. Jason squeezes his hand, then turns to make his way home; down the alley.

He knows Batman will follow him, watch over him no matter how mad, until he gets back to the rectory.

 

PRESENT

 

Jason’s a little on edge through his early dinner with Damian. He hadn’t really expected Thomas to take his advice at all and let alone the next day. By the looks of it when he’d arrived, the conversation had not gone well.

Damian wouldn’t tell him a thing. Just kept smiling at him, touching his hands, and telling him not to worry about it.

Jason is worried about it. He doesn’t remember ever seeing Thomas so pissed and, it’s not that Damian hasn’t always been quick to touch him; putting his hand in the small of Jason’s back when he passes through a doorway, taking hold of his arm in crowded areas, brushing his hair out of his face; but he’s never held Jason’s hands before and, as nice as it feels, it also seems… territorial.

Despite what he’d said to Thomas the night before, Jason keeps his red scarf wrapped around his neck the whole time.

At one point, Damian types something on his phone and ignores it when it rings a minute later. Jason has the sneaking suspicion that whatever commitment had prompted Damian to ask for an early dinner just got cancelled.

They’re there until the café closes, much later than either of them had anticipated. They don’t even discuss it, Damian just starts walking back toward the church with him. Only, it doesn’t seem like it’s motivated out of a desire to protect. It just seems like Damian is taking advantage of an opportunity to spend more time with him.

By now, Jason’s much more relaxed. After just a block Damian wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls Jason up against him.

“Feeling better?” Damian asks.

Jason leans into it and _Christ_ , it’s getting more and more difficult to convince himself this is just a friendship.

“Yes, very much,” he nudges his shoulder into Damian’s side affectionately, “Thank you.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Damian smiles down at him and Jason’s heart flutters.

“I’ve been lost in my own head for a while now,” Jason admits, “You distracted me from my worries.”

“You’re distracted by me?” Damian teases with his trademark smirk.

“You’re easy to talk to,” Jason says aloud, proud that it comes out steady, but thinks _‘You have no idea.’_

Damian snorts and gives him a look out the side of his eyes that says Damian knows exactly what Jason really thinks.

“So, what has you so worried, Todd?”

Jason hesitates a moment, “Oh you know, little things. The salvation of our eternal souls, difficult confessions.”

He’s not even lying. He’s definitely worried about his soul. He’s definitely worried about his next confession.

Damian hums thoughtfully.

“Confession is a weird concept,” he says as they turn onto the block with the church.

“It can be incredibly freeing,” Jason says, “Talking to someone about the things that weigh on your soul.”

Damian considers this as they walk up the steps. It’s late and Father Williams had locked up before he went to bed, so Jason fishes his keys out of his pocket.

As Jason pushes open the door Damian’s hand reaches out and covers the one Jason has on the handle. When Jason looks up at him he’s greeted with dark, hungry eyes.

“Would you like to hear my confession?” Damian offers.

Jason thinks about it for a moment.

“Confession is only meaningful if you intend to repent and honestly try to do better. People will fail. But the attempt is the important part. Are you going to attempt to change your sinful ways, Damian?” He says it playfully but the look in Damian’s eyes when Jason says his name... it looks like Damian wants to eat him.

He shouldn’t do it. He knows he shouldn’t. Resolves not to. But then his mouth opens and the words come out anyway.

“Do you, uh, want some coffee?”

Damian’s smile is sharp and dangerous, his eyes glint in the darkness like a predator who’s been stalking its prey and sees its opening to strike.

“I would _love_ some coffee.”

 _It’s not too late_ , Jason’s rational mind keeps telling him, _you can change your mind. Tell him good night and send him home. You know what he wants. You know you can’t give it._

They make their way through the pews. Jason can hear Damian tapping on his phone and he absentmindedly takes off his coat. Once again locked in his own internal moral dilemma, he also unthinkingly removes his scarf.

The movement must have drawn Damian’s attention because it’s not a moment later that Damian has his hand on Jason’s shoulder, stopping him in front of the altar, and turning him around.

Jason doesn’t realize what caused the consternation on Damian’s face until Damian brushes his fingertips against the mark Thomas had left. When Damian realizes what it is, his eyes narrow and he frowns, worry quickly giving way to anger. Jason doesn’t take his eyes off Damian. He doesn’t want to explain; he wouldn’t know where to start.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Jason says quietly.

“It looks like _someone_ knew you’d be seeing me today and made a poor, transparent attempt to sabotage our… friendship,” Damian growls as he moves up the two small steps to the alter, glaring at the crucifix.

Jason follows Damian up the first step and freezes. He… he hadn’t thought of it like that. He blinks quickly, trying to stop the sudden tears that threaten to overcome him. The idea that Thomas would do this purposefully, not out of desire for Jason but out of hatred of Damian… he feels used, betrayed. The pain is like a blade to the heart.

He can’t help the way his nostrils flare and his lips tremble or the shaky breaths he’s taking or the water pooling in his eyes. He can’t compose himself before Damian turns back to him.

The surprise in Damian’s eyes as he takes in Jason’s reaction bleeds into sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Todd, I spoke without thinking,” Damian soothes, hand rubbing up and down Jason’s arm. “I’m sure it’s not—”

“It’s ok,” Jason says, looking up at Damian now towering over him, “I’m sure it is. At least, in part.”

Damian gives him a small, sad, apologetic smile and allows his hand to slide over Jason’s shoulder, up to cradle his face, thumb caressing his cheekbone.

And sticking to the theme of the night, Jason, without thinking, without making the conscious decision to move, tilts his head to press a lingering kiss to Damian’s palm.

When Jason’s brain catches up with his body and he realizes what he’s done he looks up at Damian through his lashes. Damian has gone very still; pupils so wide all Jason can see from this angle is black.

Jason doesn’t know what possesses him, all he knows is that when he moves this time, it’s because he wants to.

Still gazing into Damian’s eyes, Jason tilts his head towards Damian’s palm again, only this time he opens his mouth a little, let’s Damian’s thumb slide across his lips. Damian is staring at him, unblinkingly, chest rising a little more rapidly. Damian licks his own lips and slowly presses his digit into the warm, wet, and most importantly willing mouth.

Jason swirls his tongue and hollows his cheeks. Damian growls, pulls his hand away from Jason’s face, buries one fist in Jason’s collar, the other twisting the sash at his waist, and pulls the priest up the final step.

Jason swallows hard as Damian crowds his space, pressing him back against the altar. Damian’s left hand, still curled in his collar, feels the movement. His index finger moves up to brush lightly against Jason’s Adam’s apple while his eyes drop to Jason’s throat.

Jason can’t help swallowing again and licking his lips. Even though he’s sweating, everything feels dry; his throat, his lips. All he can see is green; the emerald of Damian’s eyes, the hunter green of his cloak. Aroma’s of mint and woody incense and citrus fill his nostrils and Jason thinks this must be one of the better dreams he’s ever had.

Damian uses the hand in his collar to jerk Jason to him, and back to reality. This time, when their lips press together, Jason’s mouth opens on its own, letting Damian’s tongue in to explore. Or rather, claim. Damian kisses Jason like everything his tongue sweeps over is his already. It’s forceful and commanding and…

And Jason is lightheaded. He can’t breathe, and he feels out of control. This… he shouldn’t be doing this. He thought he had more willpower than this, thought he could at least control himself. What was he thinking?

Damian’s left hand moves from his collar to slide around the back of his head, fingers gripping Jason’s hair hard, the new position allowing Damian even more control of the now bruising, hungry kiss.

His right hand slides down from Jason’s waist and starts tugging up the cassock. Damian smiles into Jason’s mouth and it feels predatory but Jason can’t be sure because he has his eyes screwed shut.

 “Now,” Damian breathes, air hot and wet between their lips, “Let’s try this again.”

Jason doesn’t know why that seems to wake him up a bit but it does. Not enough for him to fight the deep longing and desire burning low in his abdomen. But enough to wrap his left hand around Damian’s right wrist, stilling the motion that would allow Damian access, and his right hand pressed lightly to Damian’s shoulder.

“Wait,” he gasps through reddened lips. He’s looking up at Damian through his lashes, lids heavy with unconcealed lust. Damian freezes. His hands stop moving but don’t leave from where they’re pressed to Jason’s body. The flash of frustration that crosses Damian’s features makes Jason feel guilty even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“Wait,” he whispers again, the pleading in his voice unmistakable, and Damian’s frustration turns to curiosity, “Please, Damian… I—I can’t…”

Jason’s breath is coming too quickly. His chest is constricting as he struggles between duty and desire. He desperately wants this to happen, but he shouldn’t. He knows it’s a sin; not because Damian’s a man or because it’s sex, but because Jason made a promise not to; because they’re in the church, against the altar, and he doesn’t have the will to stop. He makes a silent prayer that Damian will understand; that Damian will save him from himself.

“I—I need you,” Jason mumbles, gaze dropping to one of the gold and emerald clasps of Damian’s cloak so he misses the way his words light a fire in Damian’s eyes, “Please… I need you to stop—

—because I can’t.”

Jason can feel the desperation in his is own eyes as he looks up at Damian, begging him to understand. But all Jason finds is an evil, victorious grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone notice a little blink-and-you-miss-it cameo?
> 
>  
> 
> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)


	5. Surrender Yourself to the Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's months of work finally pay off.
> 
> Back to Damian's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written anything this graphic and it was HARD (lol, puns). I respect everyone who takes the time to create something, even when it's not my cup of tea, but I have a newfound level of respect for everyone who writes porn. I hope it doesn't read too awkwardly. 
> 
> Fair warning, this doesn't just dip into blasphemous, it dives head first into the shallow end. Seriously, if you're religious and draw the line at using religion, religious iconography, and biblical quotes/apocrypha for titillation you'll probably want to stop here. The next chapter will be worse. For you... ;)

“I—I need you… Please… I need you to stop—"

Damian almost growls in anger; is so consumed, for the fraction of a second he has, by thoughts of flipping the trembling priest around and taking what he wants, despite his promise, that he almost misses the quiet end to Todd’s plea… “—because I can’t.”

And he doesn’t bother to hide the vicious grin that spreads across his face. He’s won and they both know it.

Damian understands. This is Father Todd’s last resort, an appeal to the goodness Todd’s seen in Damian, asking the part of Damian that truly cares about him, not the chase or possessing him or one-upping Thomas Wayne, to help him; to save him from his own weakness. To let him go.

Damian does care about him. But Damian doesn’t care about his promise to a god Damian doesn’t believe in. He wants Todd to be happy, but he wants the priest to be happy with him. It’s selfish, but Damian’s always been selfish. He has no intention of letting his prize go, not after months of effort.

Todd looks up at Damian from beneath long lashes and the desperation in his eyes fades to resignation, tinged with both grief and relief, as he sees Damian’s expression. When Damian promised Thomas that Jason would beg this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind but he’ll take it. He’s sure he’ll hear proper begging soon enough.

A tear that has been threatening to fall since Damian’s careless comment slides down Todd’s pink cheek. Damian holds the man’s head still, leans in, and licks the salty drop, following the trail it left with his tongue up to the priest’s eye, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner. A shiver runs through Todd’s whole body and Damian leers again.

“Oh, _Father_ ,” Damian lets the title drip in blasphemy and sin. It’s dirty, a manipulation, a reminder of Jason’s priesthood and the sacred vow Jason’s about to break. He tightens his grip in Todd’s hair and pulls so that the priest’s neck is arched sharply, allowing Damian an unimpeded view of that pink flush he likes so much, eyes again leaning toward green under thick, dark, wet lashes, lips raw from Damian’s attention, “Why, _in God’s name_ , would I do something like that?”

Damian attacks him so quickly Todd barely has time to suck in a breath before Damian shoves their mouths back together roughly, all teeth and tongue and growls. He jerks the cassock up and grips the belted waist of the slacks underneath, fingertips and knuckles brushing warm flesh. He pulls the priest’s hips to meet his, sliding his leg between Todd’s. Damian can feel the other man’s hardening length pressing into his thigh as he pushes forward, shoving Todd’s ass into the altar and using his leverage to bend Todd’s back into a dramatic arch over the top of the stone table.

Todd’s hands scramble for purchase along the edges and his elbow knocks over one of the goblets. Neither of them pay any attention to the resulting clang because that’s when Damian’s fingers get Todd’s belt undone and Damian, losing his patience, rips the slacks open with a growl, popping the button and breaking the zipper.

 _Finally_ , Damian thinks, as he rubs his hand down Todd’s surprisingly well-defined abs before plunging into his shorts. When Damian wraps his fingers around Jason’s rock-hard cock and squeezes tight, Todd lets out a stifled moan and thrusts into Damian’s fist.

Damian strokes him a couple times slowly, but Todd’s so strung out Damian knows he’s already on the edge. Which is fine, things might be easier, and more fun, if he gets Todd off quickly before he takes his time working him back up; when he’s relaxed. And sensitive.

But the altar’s _right there_ , and he did promise Thomas. A truly wicked idea occurs to him and he feels even more motivation to get this moving.

Todd lets out the most deliciously distressed whine when Damian takes his hand away and starts unbuttoning the cassock. He really just wants to rip it open, but he has a feeling Jason wouldn’t let them leave the room later without picking up the buttons that would be all over the floor, difficult to explain evidence. He really doesn’t want to do that.

He gets the vestment undone down to the sash, moves both hands to grip Jason’s hips, grins against Jason’s lips, and flips him around in one smooth, quick motion.

Todd yelps in surprise but Damian doesn’t give him the chance to get oriented. With his right hand, Damian roughly jerks the collar of the priest’s robes down to his elbows, effectively restraining him. At the same time, he presses his left hand between Todd’s shoulder blades and shoves forward, bending him over the altar.

“Stay,” Damian demands. He lets his left hand wander across Todd’s broad, muscular back, enjoying the feel of hot flesh, while his right hikes up the robes and pulls Todd’s pants and shorts down to knees before coming back up to the small of his back. He brushes his fingertips lightly downwards and Todd gasps when Damian’s fingers dip between his cheeks.

“Damian,” the priest’s voice is rough and breathless.

“Damian, wait, not h—”

“Todd,” Damian growls, “I swear to your God that if you say the words ‘wait’ or ‘stop’ to me one more time, I will leave you here, just like this, and you’ll never see me again.”

Probably an empty threat. Jason’s still pinned to the altar under Damian’s hand, unable to move his upper body to look back at Damian so he doesn’t even try, his arms held captive by his clothing. He’s so beautiful and debauched, on the verge of ruin; Damian wants to devour him.

But Todd doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s just… Father Williams… he’s—” Todd pants, trying a different angle. Damian knows it’s mostly about being laid out on the altar.

“He’s not going to be a problem,” Damian says, “My people made sure he’ll sleep quite soundly through the night.”

This time, Todd does try to look back at him.

“When—”

“When you invited me inside,” Damian’s getting impatient. There’s a time for talking and a time for fucking and now is the later. “A quick text, a little sedative, and we won’t be bothered all night,” He presses a finger to Todd’s hole and gets a surprised, little shout in return, “Now, unless it’s one of these lovely reactionary noises, begging, or screaming, I don’t want to hear another sound. So shut up, stay exactly where you are, and let me give you what you so clearly desire.”

He wants to say, ‘Let me have you. Let me claim you, mark you, own you. Let me possess you, mind, body, and soul. Let me take you. Let me keep you. Let me consume you. Be mine. And I’ll be yours.” But the thought of laying bare his own heart… it’s inconceivable.

He can hear Todd swallow and give in, resting his head back down on the altar.

Damian now has both hands on Jason’s ass. He spreads Jason open to get a look, hears the priest suck in a breath and try to bury his face further into the stone.

Damian drags a finger over Jason’s hole, licks his lips when it reflexively clenches. He presses down again, feels it give a little, grinds his teeth and resists the urge to shove his tongue up Jason’s ass. There will be time for that later. Right now, he has a few things he wants to see first.

Jason is a wreck already. His breathing is quick and erratic, his body is trembling uncontrollably. His back and arms shiny with a thin layer of sweat.

Damian licks along Jason’s spine as he retrieves the lube he’s been carrying since he met the priest. He likes to be prepared, especially when it’s not a question of _if_ he gets what he wants but _when._

One slick finger slides in easily. Jason’s tight but Damian delights in the way his hole sucks the digit in almost as easily as Jason’s mouth had.

Damian doesn’t waste much time with a single finger. He wiggles it around inside of Jason a little, tugs on the rim, just to hear the choked little gasps Jason lets out, before he slips in a second.

Jason moans and thrusts forward into the altar. He’s muttering Damian’s name but Damian is trying to ignore it. He doesn’t really want to have to decide whether to make good on his early threat.

He pulls his fingers out then stabs them back in a couple of times. Jason grunts on the first drive, sobs on the second, and cries out when Damian spreads his fingers wide, working Jason open.

“ _Damian!_ ” It’s gasped like he can’t get enough air but Todd’s managed to work himself up to being loud enough that Damian can’t pretend not to hear it. Regardless, Damian doesn’t respond, just keeps fucking Jason with his fingers.

“Damian please, oh god please,” Jason breathes again but this time Damian catches the shift in his tone, “Please…”

Damian is definitely not holding his breath.

“ _Touch me, please!_ ” Jason begs.

Fuck. Dopamine floods Damian’s brain completely washing away the brief twinge of guilt. He’s been so enraptured by the proceedings he had completely forgotten about Jason’s painfully hard cock.

He slides his hand around the priest’s waist and gets himself situated. The same moment he grasps Jason’s dick he jams another finger into him.

Jason yells. Damian doesn’t bother pumping his fingers in and out, he just presses them to Jason’s prostate and rubs on every upstroke of Jason’s shaft.

Jason is a mess of tears, muttered pleas, and moans. It’s not very long before he cums.

The ring of muscle clenches around Damian’s fingers with just enough notice for him to angle Jason properly; make sure he releases where Damian wants him to. Damian massages Jason’s prostate through his orgasm, milking Jason for every pearly drop he has.

Jason slumps, boneless and exhausted. Damian should probably give him a moment to catch his breath. But where’s the fun in that?

He starts working his fingers in and out of Jason again and returns his other hand to pull the priest’s ass cheek wide so he can watch.

Jason winces. He must be pretty sensitive now.

Damian scissors his fingers as far as he can. That gets him a whimper.

He curls his fingers, pressing once again on the bundle of nerves deep inside. Jason hisses and sobs.

Damian keeps this up for several minutes, pressing on the priest’s prostate on every thrust in, and spreading his fingers on every pull out, gradually reducing Todd to a shaking, weeping, shambles, until the lube starts to dry up and Damian worries he’ll actually hurt him.

Damian pulls his fingers out with a soft squelch and wipes them on Jason’s robes.

He gives Jason the time it takes for him to get out and slick up his own cock. Damian’s been so distracted, so intensely focused that he’d hardly noticed his own ache. The moment he touches himself to spread the cool lubrication across his erection he barely suppresses a sharp, and audible, inhale. He stokes himself slowly a couple times, trying to take the edge off the sensation of flesh on flesh.

Once again, Damian wipes his hand on the cassock and spreads Jason’s ass, licks his lips at the fluttering hole, now reddened from Damian’s attention. When he presses the tip of his cock to it Jason starts muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘too soon’ and ‘wait.’ Damian knows what Todd means; he’s sensitive and it’s obvious, even from just  the head and the bit of shaft that Jason can feel, that Damian’s dick is substantially longer and wider than his three fingers.

Damian leans forward, wraps a hand around Jason’s throat, pulling him up, arching his back, and bringing Todd’s ear to meet Damian’s lips. Damian squeezes just enough to cut off the words and get a small choking sound.

“I know I didn’t hear you tell me to ‘wait,’ right?” Damian whispers before biting down on the shell of the ear, “Because I thought I was unequivocally clear about the consequences should you say that word to me again. Do you want me to leave, Jason?”

Jason moans at hearing his name. This is the first time Damian has called him by his first name. Aloud, anyway. Damian eases his hold just enough for Jason to answer.

“ _No!_ Please… god, no… just… need a… a moment…” Jason is panting. His face is flushed and his lids are heavy over eyes that are definitely a vibrant green now. Not a rich, natural color, it’s almost neon in brightness. It almost reminds Damian of the Lazarus Pits. He’s never seen someone’s eyes change colors so drastically before.

He should give Jason what he’s asked for; after months, what’s a moment? But the more wrecked Jason gets the more beautiful he is and Damian wants to see him completely ruined.

“It’s your choice, of course. But if you make me wait now, I’ll make you wait later,” Damian threatens softly, “And trust me, Jason, if you’re like this already, you’re not prepared to deal with what I can put you through. Not yet.”

Damian feels Jason swallow, watches as a shudder runs down his body, then Jason nods and whispers “ok” barely loud enough to make out.

 _Christ_ , Damian thinks as he squeezes Jason’s throat again, _maybe there is a god, surely someone made this man just for me._

“Good boy,” Damian says aloud. Jason whines.

Damian presses his hips forward, feels Jason’s hole give as the tip of his cock pops in. He goes slow, more so Jason feels every single centimeter of Damian’s length filling him up than any more considerate reasons. Still, despite the way Jason’s opening pulls at him, Damian wonders if he should have done more preparation. If Jason were any tighter, the pressure would leave Damian with a diamond dick.

Between being impaled and choked, Jason can’t make the noises of pleasure and distress that he should be but he does seem to be trying to squirm himself into the table. If his hands weren’t still wrapped up in his clothes behind his back, Damian has no doubt Jason would be scratching at the stone beneath him. But there’s nowhere to go and Damian is relentless. By the time he bottoms out, Damian is sweating and the hand around Jason’s throat is damp with tears.

He relaxes his grip and Jason gulps down so much air he coughs, jostling Damian against his abused prostate and making Jason wince.

Damian can tell Jason is overwhelmed. He doesn’t know what the rules are for priests fucking themselves but Jason is so tight, so…virginal, despite the preparation, that Damian suspects the man took his vow very seriously until now. He slides the hand he had round Todd’s throat up to gently stroke tear-stained cheeks. Not moving, waiting for Todd to acclimate to the intrusion, is one of the hardest things Damian has done in a very long time.

“Jason,” Damian whispers into his ear. He shoves one of the fingers he used to open Jason’s hole between the priest’s lips, enjoying the vulgarity. He briefly presses down on Jason’s tongue before the tongue slips out to swirl around Damian’s finger. Todd sucks on the digit like he’s starved for it. Finally, Jason gives a soft moan in acknowledgement that he is listening and Damian continues, “As much as I enjoy hearing you gasp my name,” Damian pauses, this time to worry at Jason’s shoulder, loving the pained whimper it gets him when he uses a little too much teeth, “I want _you_ to call _me_ Father.”

Jason stiffens beneath him, and Damian enjoys that too.

Still buried to the hilt, Damian gives a sharp thrust forward and Jason cries out. Damian lets his lips brush Jason’s ear, voice dark, liquid, silk, “Worship _me_ , Jason, and I’ll worship you,” he tugs at Jason’s lobe with his teeth, grips his hips harder, and shifts his weight slightly, just enough for his cock to move ever so slightly inside Todd, and it earns him a desperate whine, “ _Pray_ to _me_ , Jason. Beg _me_ for my favor, my mercy, my touch, and I will _always_ answer your call. No matter the invocation, I’ll provide.”

The wail Jason lets out is so pained, so mournful, and accompanied by sobs that, for the first time tonight, sound more heartbroken than overcome with pleasure, that Damian briefly worries he’s gone too far.

He’s about to ask Jason if he’s alright, retract his demand, maybe even offer to call it a night. Before he can open his mouth though, Jason’s voice, soft, scratchy, and broken cuts through the silence echoing off stained glass and limestone.

“F-forgive me… F-Father,” Jason weeps, and for a moment, Damian thinks he speaking to God, “Please… F-Father, please _move._ ”

Damian’s breath catches and his heart stops. The heat he’s felt for Jason these past months turns into a rampant fire that consumes his entire body and soul. He rips the cassock off Jason’s arms, takes both wrists in one hand and grips Jason’s hip so tight with the other he’ll definitely leave bruises. Then he moves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)


	6. The Second Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starts in Jason's POV. End's with Damian's POV after the break. 
> 
> I don't really like changing POV in the same chapter but if I split it into two chapters this time they would have been short and weirdly paced.
> 
> Sorry about the chapter title. It doesn't really fit with the way every other chapter is titled but I couldn't resist, especially since I made Damian hold his tongue on a similar joke in chapter one *shrug*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys think that Damian's "truly wicked idea" was just fucking Jason on the altar? 
> 
> Yeah... that's not it ;)
> 
> It's ok, you guys don't know me that well yet. You'll learn :D
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter. But it's one of my favorite, I had so much fun writing it, I wanted to give it it's own space. Also, I totally googled men's underwear so that I had the correct term for those sexy, tight, little shorts that aren't loose enough to be boxers and not long enough to be boxer-briefs.
> 
> Again, the blasphemy and intentional disrespect of religion continues. I blame Damian. He just doesn't give a fuck.

“ _Pray_ to _me_ , Jason. Beg _me_ for my favor, my mercy, my touch, and I will _always_ answer your call. No matter the invocation, I’ll provide.”

Jason feels something inside him break. He doesn’t have the presence of mind to give it the attention it deserves; he knows it’s irreparable, knows it’s the end of something. It’s so painful he sees white despite having his eyes squeezed shut.

Did he just scream? Is he crying?

He can’t catch his breath. He feels so full, so exquisitely full. It’s ecstasy. So why does he feel a bone-deep emptiness threatening to overpower him? If Damian would just move, he could forget about this feeling.

Damian. Damian wants something from him. Jason wants to give Damian whatever he wants.

His mind is reaching out desperately trying to piece together why Damian’s request is bad. But he’s lost some part of himself, pushed it aside to feel something real, and in his weakness, he’s forgotten where he put it.

Damian’s still waiting. Jason remembers Damian threatening to leave and sobs again.

With immense effort, he finds what’s left of his voice; a weak little thing so unlike him he doesn’t recognize it.

“F-forgive me… F-Father,” each word feels ripped from his lips, burning as they ooze off his tongue like lava, “Please… F-Father, please _move._ ”

Then Damian is gripping his wrists and hip so tightly he thinks the bone might crack and driving the agony and fear from his mind with each brutal thrust; answering his prayer, as promised.

Damian’s not gentle. He fucks Jason like he’s nothing more than flesh; a warm, open, willing hole to, as Damian once promised, have as he wishes; like there’s not a person inside, falling. Falling from grace. Falling into pleasure. Falling away from his purpose. Maybe falling in love.

The flared head of Damian’s cock catches Jason’s prostate on every pass and the pain of the continued abuse of the oversensitive area has looped back around and registers as pleasure in Jason’s brain. Every time it happens he reflexively clenches down, making Damian impossibly larger inside him and his passage impossibly tighter around Damian who grunts out an aborted moan every time, like he doesn’t want to show how much he’s affected.

Jason doesn’t know how long he’s been hard again, only that everything between his legs aches for release. The rest of him is so overstimulated; his body’s too warm, flushed from head to toe, his nerves are fried, he’s shaking so uncontrollably that he would have collapsed in heap on the floor if Damian didn’t have him pinned hard to whatever surface he was bent over; he can’t conjure a coherent thought more complex that “Oh god!” or “Please, Damian!” or “Harder, Father, please!” and he might be saying them out loud or Damian is a demon who can read his mind because every time he thinks them Damian responds with a moan or an increase in pace and ferocity.

He’s lost all concept of time; doesn’t know how long Damian pounds into him. All he knows is he’s there, he’s at the tipping point. Both of them are; Damian’s pace is faltering and Jason wants to cum so badly but he needs something… something more. Just one more thing… but he doesn’t know how to ask for it; doesn’t know what it is.

And then Damian’s hands move. One grips Jason’s hair and pulls him up as the other slides around him, splays over his chest and holds him tightly, exposed back pressed to soft, rich fabric of Damian’s still clothed chest. Damian jerks into him once more, then stills, before he feels the warmth of Damian’s seed fill him up.

Damian stays inside Jason as he softens. Jason tries to squirm so he can get his hands on himself but Damian slaps his hand away, clutches tighter, and growls out a rough, “No.”

Jason whines in desperation but obeys. He tries to clench his fists in his clothes but they’re around his ankles. So he digs his nails into the strong arm wrapped around him and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on the slowing rise and fall of Damian’s chest as the man catches his breath and peppers Jason’s neck and shoulders with kisses and bites.

When Damian seems to have gotten control of himself and still doesn’t move, still doesn’t let Jason move, Jason sobs, “Please, Damian, I need—"

“Shh,” Damian hushes him softly, smiles against his skin, “I know what you need. You shouldn’t doubt that I’ll provide.”

And Jason believes him. Believes _in_ him.

When Damian finally pulls out of him it hurts and his brain is no longer registering pain as pleasure. He has just enough time to hiss his discomfort before he feels Damian’s semen drip down his thigh. He shivers.

One of Damian’s hands slides up through the mess, dips two fingers into Jason’s stretched and abused hole, coating them with cum. Jason whimpers his distress.

Damian hushes him again as he removes his hand and uses his body to guide Jason lower and forward. Damian brings his fingers to Jason’s lips. Jason obediently opens his mouth and waits for Damian to slip in the digits.

“So fucking beautiful,” Damian, eyes wide, pupils blown, mutters reverently.

He pushes his fingers into Jason’s mouth at the same time he pinches Jason’s nipple, hard, and twists. Jason, mouth occupied and trapped between Damian and the altar, moans around Damian’s fingers and bucks forward, second orgasm landing very near the first. On the altar.

Damian gives Jason a moment but not much more. Just the time that it takes to guide the priest to his knees, straighten, tuck himself away, and run his fingers through Jason’s hair.

Damian’s had more time to compose himself, he’s calm and collected, back to normal. But Jason hasn’t even caught his breath yet. He’s still vibrating, his blood’s still thrumming, he’s flushed and hypersensitive, he’s crying and still not fully back in his own mind.

That doesn’t stop Damian’s grip from tightening in his hair. Jason’s breath catches as he realizes Damian’s not done toying with him yet.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, _Father_ ,” Damian purrs darkly, using Jason’s hair to maneuver his face inches from his release, “You’re probably going to want to clean that up.”

Jason shivers. No. It’s too much. Licking his own cum off the altar is… he can’t. It’s just… he’s so…

Jason sobs, overwhelmed. He can feel Damian’s grin as tangibly as he feels the man lean close, lips brushing his ear.

“I’m fine leaving the evidence of your transgression for everyone to see, _Father_ ,” Damian hums wickedly, each word and sentence chosen specifically to shred Jason’s soul, to drown him in filth; his shaking and sobbing intensify, “I’d prefer it, actually. But something tells me you’d rather not. This night if far from over, I’d hate for you to forget.”

Jason swallows. He doesn’t know what Damian’s plans are but the promise of _more_ overrides the shame and guilt. He caves, gives in completely, turning off his own will and trusting it to Damian.  

 

*              *              *

 

Damian sees the moment Jason gives himself over, relinquishing control to him. Jason’s whole body relaxes and his head leans into Damian’s touch.

Jason swallows, wets his lips, and slowly opens his mouth. Damian waits for the tongue to peek out tentatively before pushing his head forward the final inches.

When Jason’s tongue slides up the rough stone collecting his own cooled, sticky, cum on the tip, cheeks wet and tear-stained, eyes squeezed shut, golden crucifix towering above him in silent judgment, Damian’s cock positively leaps in renewed interest. Going from soft to half-hard in a blink.

When Jason’s finished licking he rests his forehead against the cool stone, shoulders shaking with hushed sobs. Damian knows part of it is what they’ve done, what Jason’s done. But Damian also knows most of it is how much Jason enjoyed every moment; that he had begged for it.

Damian knows one more thing as well.

“Jason,” he murmurs, soft but unyielding, loosening his tight hold and carding his fingers through Jason’s thick hair, “Did you swallow it?”

The way Jason stiffens gives him the answer he already knew. He moves his hand down to rest reassuringly at the base of Jason’s neck.

“Swallow,” he orders gently.

When Jason still hesitates, Damian squeezes the back of his neck firmly, lowers his voice and growls, “Swallow it, Jason. Now.”

He feels Jason’s throat move on his fingertips and smiles. He rubs his fingers up and down and around Jason’s neck and shoulders comfortingly before he pulls away completely, not touching the priest at all for the first time in…

Jason sags forward, collapsing in on himself. Damian’s exhausted, he can only imagine how Todd must feel.

He kneels next to Jason and looks him over.

The mark Thomas left on Jason’s neck has disappeared into the larger mark left by Damian’s hand. Jason’s shoulders are a mess of scattered little bruises from where Damian nipped him at the end and an “O” shaped mark on the left which would match Damian’s dental records if he’d had any. Jason’s wrists and nipple are an angry red that will probably be full bruises by the end of the night and the hand-print on Jason’s hip is already purpling.

Damian can see where his cum is drying on the inside of Jason’s thighs, sees where it dripped onto the discarded cassock when he’d pulled out. Between that and erasing Thomas’s mark, Damian feels an irrational sense of pride and completely rational Schadenfreude.

Jason’s still breathing too quickly. Damian got his wish. The priest is entirely ruined. Everything about him screams ‘broken.’ Damian feels drunk on the sight.

He unpins his cloak, removes it, and wraps it around Jason’s shoulders. Jason just looks up at him, eyes still hazy but questioning. Damian pulls the cloak forward, tucking Jason into it before he slides his hand lightly down the priest’s thigh to the clothes still bunched at his ankles.

“Your clothing is ruined,” Damian explains gently as he carefully pulls one foot out of ripped trousers, then the other, both still clad in black oxfords. He slides Jason’s black trunks up past the knees, rises and holds out his hand.

Jason just looks at it for a moment. His breath comes out shaky and he’s still trembling a little. Finally, he raises an arm, with what looks to Damian like an enormous effort, and allows Damian to grasp his forearm.

Damian pulls the priest to his feet, keeping a grip on Jason’s arm for support as the smaller man wobbles. With his free hand, Damian pulls the trunks up the rest of the way, covering Jason, and pulls the cloak closed in the front.

Damian wraps a strong arm around Jason’s shoulders and pulls him close; leans in and presses a loving kiss to Jason’s temple.

“You were so good for me, Jason,” Damian mutters quietly. Jason shudders involuntarily with the praise and Damian wonders if he maybe means it as more than just praise. “So good. So beautiful.”

Damian glances at the pile of torn and stained priest’s robes. He knows it’s cruel and selfish and terrible. He leaves them there anyway.

Jason doesn’t even ask where they’re going as Damian guides him out the church’s front door to a large, nondescript, black SUV idling at the curb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently comments pump me up and get me writing. I honestly didn't expect such supportive feedback. This is the internet, aren't you guys supposed to be mean? 
> 
> Anywho, joking aside, you're all so lovely and kind! <3
> 
> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)


	7. Spinach and Gruyere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast and broken hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get used to this two chapters at a time thing... it's not sustainable. I've just been super motivated.
> 
> Anywho, happy Friday. Have some more porn. 
> 
> And emotional turmoil. Because that's how I roll.
> 
> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

He blinks his eyes open slowly and rolls over, searching for his bed-mate and finding only cool cotton. He grunts in disappointment, drags himself out of the warm bed, pulls on a ridiculously plush velvet robe and makes his way downstairs.

Jason’s in the kitchen, leaning against the Statuario marble counters, wearing only red cashmere pajama pants, left side of the paperback he’s reading bent round so that the front and back covers are facing each other, coffee forgotten as he loses himself in whatever book he’s picked for today. His still too thin but well-defined body is lit by the soft, lazy, early morning sun coming through the big floor to ceiling windows; and covered in scratches and teeth marks and bruises; chest, back, neck, disappearing beneath the waistband of the pants sitting low on his hips…

Jason’s so fucking beautiful it’s hard for him to believe the boy’s still here.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Jason says when he notices he’s no longer alone.

“What’d you make?”

“Quiche. Spinach, Gruyere. It’s good, I promise.”

He doesn’t doubt it, “We had groceries?”

Jason smirks and sets down the book, “After I got some yesterday, yes.”

He frowns, “You went out alone?”

Jason rolls his eyes, “I’m not a child, lucky for you. But no, I had it delivered.”

“Good,” he hums moving closer. He can see Jason decide it’s not worth arguing about right now.

“Want some coffee?” Jason asks.

He does. But he wants Jason more.

“I want you to take off your pants,” he says as he stands in front of him.

“You’re insatiable,” Jason sighs in exasperation but does as he’s told, “You have 10 minutes before I ditch you to take out the food. I’m NOT burning an awesome breakfast and settling for fucking cereal again.”

He grabs Jason’s ass in both hands and lifts. When Jason wraps those strong thighs around his waist he slips a hand between the boy’s ass-cheeks. His fingertips find the plug he shoved in Jason’s hole last night to keep his seed inside. _Good_ , he thinks, _I didn’t tell him he could remove it._

Jason gasps when he pushes up then down on the plug before pulling, then grunts when he stops with the widest part stretching Jason’s rim.

He twists it just so Jason feels the movement.

“8 minutes, asshole,” Jason growls through clenched teeth.

“That’s more than I’ll need, beautiful,” he says into Jason’s neck as he pulls the plug out of Jason completely.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jason breathes.

He presses two fingers into Jason, testing, bites Jason’s earlobe, before rumbling, “Still wet and loose for me.”

The retort that was definitely on the tip of Jason’s tongue gets lost as he pulls the boy down and presses up, shoving his cock in, feeling his own cum ease his way and drip down his balls.

Jason clings to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. He presses their lips together and Jason kisses him like it’s the only way he can breathe.

His pace is steady and sure. Jason’s muttering a string of expletives as he leans back, bracing his hands on the counter, and drives his hips down to meet each thrust.

He leans forward so that they stay close; in the same space, breathing the same air.

True to his word, six minutes later, he spills inside of Jason, new release mixing with the previous, doubling his claim. They’re both still breathing hard when, before he pulls out, he presses the plug back to Jason’s hole.

“No,” Jason breathes and grabs his wrist.

“Yes,” he growls and start to slowly pull out, but doesn’t move the plug.

“I hate you,” Jason says as he lets go of the wrist. Giving in easily.

“No, you don’t.”

When he’s all the way out he slides the plug back into Jason who moans before moving to get off the counter and out of his arms.

He doesn’t let him. He pushes Jason so that he’s lying back on the cold marble.

“Th-the quiche,” Jason stammers with no real intent.

“Fuck the quiche,” he snarls, kissing up those spectacular thighs, “You haven’t gotten off.”

“I… I want… breakfast,” Jason barely manages to get out as he licks the boy’s balls.

“Hmmm, me first,” he hums and licks a stripe up the underside of Jason’s cock before sucking it all the way down in one go, drawing a surprised but pleased cry from pink lips.

The timer on the oven goes off before he’s finished and Jason kind of halfheartedly tries to push at his face.

He grabs Jason’s wrist with his spare hand and continues hollowing his cheeks, swirling his tongue around the head, and swallowing around the whole length when his nose is buried in a soft smattering of curly black hair.

The quiche won’t burn before Jason’s finished.

It’s maybe a minute later. Maybe.

Jason’s fingers clench in his hair but don’t force him down. He goes on his own; wants everything Jason will give him. When Jason spills, hot and salty in his mouth, he swallows all of it, keeps sucking even after Jason starts softening, just to be sure he gets it all. When he finally lets Jason slip from his mouth he offers the boy his hand; pulls to help him sit up.

Jason gazes at him a moment and it’s softer and more loving than anything he deserves; than anything he thought he’d ever have again.

Jason smiles tenderly and presses a gentle hand to his cheek. He leans into it.

Jason hops down from the counter and leans over to pick up the discarded pants.

He kicks them away before Jason can grab them.

Jason straightens and glares at him.

He just smirks, “I said off.”

Jason shakes his head and grabs the oven mitts and goes to the oven.

He moves toward the coffee, not taking his eyes off of Jason as he bends to retrieve their slightly overcooked breakfast.

“You’re such a dick, Tom,” Jason grumbles.

Thomas doesn’t argue, just sips his coffee as he enjoys the view.

 

*              *              *

 

PRESENT

 

Thomas sees it on one of the cameras he’d hidden in the church years ago.

A rage unlike anything he’s ever felt roars through him with the force and heat of 100,000 acre forest fire. Before he decides to do anything his body has already turned him toward the part of town that will bring down the wrath of Batman.

There’s other emotions in there too. He’s vaguely aware of pain and loss. But he shoves those down in favor of righteous fury.

He’d warned them. He’d warned them both. What happened next is their fault.

He’s going to kill Damian.

He’s going to drag Jason back to the manor and never let him leave again.

He lands heavily on the roof of the church and is instantly surrounded by five ninjas dressed head to toe in black and wielding swords.

“Get out of my way, fools, before I hand your intestines to your master,” he fumes.

One, the commander perhaps, steps forwards slightly.

“If we simply step out of your way, our master will take our intestines himself. You may be able to kill us all, Bat, but the commotion will certainly alert the Demon to your presence,” he says.

“Good.”

“Think about that for a moment,” this ninja is certainly more chatty than most, and either braver or dumber, “Your priest is down there, willingly, asking, as the master told you he would, for everything—”

Batman snarls and moves to advance. The ninja raises his hands, placating. His comrades keep their weapons at the ready.

“If you interrupt… he’ll not thank you for it. If you somehow best the master and kill him, your priest will not forgive you. In the more likely event that the master slays you, your priest will blame it on your aggression. There’s no scenario here, now, that ends with the outcome you desire. You would be better served by going home and strategizing.”

He’s not wrong. In the back of his mind Thomas knows that. But he’s so enraged that he can’t pull that rational part of his mind to the forefront. He _almost_ starts attacking, almost lashes out. Briefly, Thomas wonders why they’re bothering. If they’re so certain it can’t end in his favor, why not take advantage and further solidify Jason’s bond with Damian. The though flashes across his mind so quick he almost misses it. But he manages to grab onto it before it’s gone.

The answer strikes him like lightening. They’re not really trying to stop him. Oh sure, if he stops they’ll consider that a win too, but the phrasing, the words, they’re picked so carefully, playing into the protective and possessive feelings he has for Jason, reminding him that Damian had told him this was going to happen… They’re trying to goad him into doing something, not to solidify any bond between Jason and Damian, but to sever anything still left between Jason and himself.

He won’t let Damian win like that.

“I hope your master has a lot more of you and that you’re ready to die for him.”

“We are the master’s servants, we would kill ourselves if he asked it of us. Your threats do not alarm us.”

Batman snorts.

Then he disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was anyone fooled for more than a second in that first part?


	8. Terms of Endearment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian POV  
> Jason POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a breather chapter but apparently, now that I've started writing sex, I can't help myself. 
> 
> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

Damian knows the rest of his plans for the evening are over when Jason falls asleep in the car, wrapped in Damian’s arms, head resting lightly on his shoulder.

He gently drags his knuckles up and down Jason’s arm, unable to tear his eyes away. The priest’s cheeks are still a little pink but the tears have dried. His lips are parted slightly, he breaths evenly, his trembling has ceased.

Damian had thought Jason couldn’t possibly be more beautiful than he’d been when he’d surrendered. Crying, shaking, eyes filled with lust and desperation, bruised lips uttering the most sinful words… Damian had wanted to keep him, just like that, forever.

He’s glad he didn’t.

Because like this, calm, quiet, exhausted, and peaceful, features relaxed and trusting, Jason is exquisite; Damian feels something more than possessiveness, more than lust, certainly more than friendship or respect. He wishes he could convince himself it was unfamiliar but he’s been feeling it there for months, just below the surface, waiting for him to acknowledge it. He wishes he didn’t know what it was, but he does.

Damian pulls his eyes away with difficulty and turns his attention to the window; watches the obfuscated neon of Gotham slide by, watches the horrible people Jason wants to help shout and shove and hurt, and slips unwillingly into the past.

He remembers the stray kitten he’d found at the compound when he was a child. Remembers the way his mother had watched him care for it, the way it had followed him around, batting playfully at his tunic, licking the tips of his fingers, curling up to purr on his chest. He remembers the day his mother made him kill it.

The lesson had been clear.

He remembers the day he killed his mother. The moment the shock in her eyes changed to pride before the light left them.

The lesson had been learned.

Damian forces himself to keep his gaze on the window; does not allow himself to look back down at Jason. Does, however, allow himself to tilt his head to touch the one on his shoulder.

He’s in trouble and he knows it.

He knows he’d burn the world in vengeance if anyone tried to harm Jason. Forget the Amazons and the Atlanteans, it’s the Demon who will toss the planet into the sun. He knows he has enemies; dangerous men and women who would delight in finding and exploiting any weakness. One cannot be Head of the Demon, lead the League of Assassins, and have such easily accessible personal attachments.

His grandfather had had a harem of men and women, each as disposable as the next. And they had been safe.

His mother had been more modern. She’d had a lover in every city. None were ever anything more than a good fuck. And they had been safe.

Is it hubris that makes him think he can keep Jason safe? Or selfishness?

Both are sins of his.

Jason shifts under Damian’s arm and his attention snaps back down, alert for any discomfort, before he can stop himself.

Jason just sighs and nestles closer. Damian chances running his hand through the thick, black hair, twisting the white streak around his index finger; only just realizes the curls are damp with sweat.

The car comes to a stop at the private entrance, in the private garage, for Damian’s penthouse.

The driver, a great, hulking beast of a man named Ubu, opens the door and moves to lift the sleeping priest out of the car. Damian almost stops him. Almost tells the man he’ll lose a hand if he touches Jason. He only just manages to control the impulse.

He still thinks he’s too obvious, the way he doesn’t take his eyes off the driver’s hands, making sure Jason, in nothing but his shoes and trunks and Damian’s cloak, is safe.

His men are loyal and he doesn’t doubt that. But. If he wants to keep Jason… no unnecessary risks.

Damian’s tense in the elevator; tense as Ubu carries Jason into the apartment; tense as they cross the seemingly endless expanse of living areas to the master bedroom on the far side. He twitches with impatience as Ubu lays Jason on the bed. Schools his face into the look of cool apathy they expect from him when Ubu turns for an order.

Damian dismisses the driver with a wave of his hand.

He waits until he hears the door close, and then waits a little longer, just to be sure.

When he finally allows his attention to go back to where it really wants to be, he just gazes at Jason for a long moment.

Jason hadn’t responded at all to being jostled around. Damian knows that his exhaustion is more than just bone deep; that it’s in his mind and heart as well.

He checks the time. It’s late. Late enough to justify not returning to his work, even though he’s definitely worked later before. But he’s tired too. Not as physically tired as Jason, Damian could have kept going all night and that had been his plan. But for the first time in his life he feels emotionally drained.

He moves as quietly as he can as he undresses and prepares for bed, which for him is complete silence. It takes him a moment to remember where the sleep clothes are stored. He doesn’t usually bother but he’s acutely aware that Jason will wake at some point and, even though Damian really isn’t expecting anything to happen when he does, it still feels presumptuous to be naked. He scowls. This is not something he’s ever worried about before.

He’s about to close the drawer when he stops and stares at a second set of bottoms. Will Jason feel more comfortable waking in more than just his underwear? Or less comfortable because someone dressed him in his sleep?

Damian decides not to risk dressing Jason. He shakes his head at himself, because he _really_ shouldn’t care, but he grabs the whole set anyway, bottoms and matching shirt, and places them on the nightstand in case Jason wants them. Then he gently removes Jason’s shoes, leaves the socks, carefully extracts Jason from the cloak, and pulls the blankets over him.

Damian moves to the other side of the bed and slides in without a whisper of movement. He taps the control, turning off the lights. The tint in the bulletproof windows automatically lowers with the lack of illumination, letting the cityscape of Gotham, gorgeous from 50 stories up, surround them.

Damian hears Jason shifting. Then suddenly he feels the other man in his space followed by hard, warm skin as Jason’s back presses lightly to Damian’s side.

He hesitates. He’s slept with plenty of people. Well, plenty for him. And while he’s been fond of some of his partners they were never special to him. He’d never had any problem with cuddling close afterward with any of them, secretly he’d rather enjoyed it and they’d all seemed to accept that it was done for their benefit, not his. But this is different. Jason is different.

Damian wants so desperately to hold him. But, even in the privacy of his room… will someone be able to tell the depths of Damian’s feelings? Will they question his commitment to the League? He’s pretty good at hiding his emotions, but he’s never felt like this before. No one would say anything to him, but he’s not worried about what they say to his face, he worries about what they whisper amongst themselves.

Until now Damian has had his people, the few who know about it at all, convinced this was about the hunt and hurting Batman, because he had almost had himself convinced. Now that he’s _mostly_ admitted to himself that it’s more… will they see the difference?

Damian sighs.

Fuck it. It’s too late, and he’s too tired, to argue with himself.

He rolls onto his side and shuffles closer, pressing his bare chest to Jason’s bare back. He puts his left arm over Jason’s waist, and hooks his right over Jason’s right shoulder, the one he’s laying on, so that his bicep is essentially Jason’s pillow.

In his sleep, Jason leans into the warmth of Damian’s body and Damian nuzzles his nose, mouth, and chin into Jason’s hair, tightens his hold protectively, and closes his eyes

Warmth, comfort, and exhaustion take him in seconds.

 

*              *              *

 

It’s still dark when Jason wakes up in a bed too soft, sheets too silky, blankets too thick, and pillows too fluffy to be his own.

He registers the reassuring weight and warmth around him but his attention is momentarily stolen when his bleary eyes finally focus on the unimpeded view of towering skyscrapers out a wall of glass.

Definitely not his room at the rectory.

Jason swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut as what should be an innocent thought jarringly reminds him that he’s done something decidedly not innocent.

The clock on the nightstand reads 3:02 AM and Jason lets out a quiet groan. It’s way too early to think about the repercussions of last—of a few hours ago.

The light from the numbers shines on a set of green, silk?, pajamas obviously left within easy reach should he want them. He smiles. He likes the quiet, almost self-conscious thoughtfulness Damian shows.

His smile slides into a contemplative frown.

Damian is at his back. This Damian’s home. Well, his home while he’s in Gotham. Jason remembers… after… Damian putting an arm around him, getting in a car. Then not much else.

3:04

Jason really wants a glass of water or something, his throat hurts and he dimly remembers strong fingers tightening around his neck. He barely suppresses a shudder. He doesn’t want to wake Damian up. So he doesn’t move to find a kitchen or bathroom, either.

He tries to go back to sleep. Damian’s arms are around him, the one under his head has to be numb by now, Jason thinks, and it’s so unbelievably pleasant, all this physical contact that for one hilarious moment Jason wonders why he hasn’t done this in so long, before it comes crashing back. Hilarious in a dark, sad kinda way, that is.

 _Oh my god,_ he thinks, _what am I going to do? Can I even walk back into the church? Do I even want to? How can I look Father Williams in the eye? How can I preach anything after the things I said?_ Because the worst part is, he doesn’t, wouldn’t, take any of it back.

3:29

Thomas’s face flashes across his mind and he suddenly feels sick. And guilty.

His heart aches. It’s too early, he’s too tired, he doesn’t want to think about any of this right now.

His breath hitches. That slight movement sets off a cascade of a dull, throbbing aching kind of pain down his body reminding him how thoroughly he’d been used.

This time he can’t stop the shiver that rolls down his spine, can’t help but notice how the pleasure of the memory overrides the painful thoughts he’s not prepared to deal with in this moment.

With some effort, given how stiff and sore he is, Jason takes Damian’s left hand, the one wrapped around his waist, with his right, to keep it around him while he rolls onto his left side so that he’s facing Damian.

Damian moans sleepily and shifts to accommodate the new position, left hand sliding up Jason’s back a couple inches, chin moving to rest on the top of Jason’s head. But he doesn’t wake up.

Jason licks his lips and inches closer, presses his lips to the hollow of Damian’s throat, moves an inch to the right and, keeping that spacing, kisses along Damian’s clavicle.

On the third kiss Jason feels Damian’s body change from relaxed slumber to alert wakefulness. His breathing is slightly shallower, the fingers of one hand moving on Jason’s spine while the others toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. But otherwise Damian doesn’t move.

Jason feels the heat rising under his skin as he moves down, peppering Damian’s chest with featherlight kisses.

Damian’s grip tightens when Jason uses the tip of his tongue to delicately lick over a hard nipple before sucking it between his lips. Damian’s slightly sharper inhale is barely noticeable but Jason catches it. He smiles against Damian’s skin.

He doesn’t use his teeth, just his tongue and lips, to worship Damian’s muscular body; licks the spaces between titanium abs, drags wet lips over exposed hip bones, dips his tongue below the waistband of the soft pajama bottoms, tantalizingly close, hears Damian swallow hard, then moves back up with his own teasing smirk.

But apparently Damian only has so much patience when he’s the one being tormented because he growls, rolls onto his back, dragging Jason on top of him, while simultaneously pulling Jason up to kiss him.

But this isn’t a kiss like before. It’s just as deep and hard and passionate but it’s also softer, less demanding, less possessive. More… mutual… Before, Damian had licked into his mouth, pushed his tongue around, Jason had felt like he was just along for the ride, a ride he had thoroughly enjoyed, but now their tongues tangle together as they tugg at each other’s lips; Jason’s hands on either side of Damian’s face; Damian with one hand on the small of Jason’s back holding their bodies together, the other cradling the back of Jason’s neck, fingers buried in his hair; neither dominating, both just enjoying the taste of the other.

Jason rocks his hips down, rubbing them together. Damian chokes in his mouth and suddenly the two thin layers of fabric between them are a hundred too many.

The only way he can pull himself away from Damian’s lips is by telling himself over and over again that what’ll come after will be even better.

He puts a hand on each of Damian’s pecs and pushes himself up, sitting lightly on Damian’s hips. Jason can’t see much more than the hungry glint in Damian’s eyes as he watches, hands clinched on either side of Jason’s waist. Waiting.

Jason shifts his weight to one leg, slowly pulls the band of his trunks down and slips his opposite leg out, then does the same on the other side. He almost laughs out loud when he notices that Damian has left his socks on. But he feels Damian’s eyes follow every movement and the heat of that gaze makes him blush and peel the socks off without comment.

Finally he settles back to straddling Damian, can’t resist running his hands up and down his chest again before leaning in for more of that mouth.  

After a minute, he starts to slide down Damian’s body, brushing his fingertips and lips over every inch of exposed, hot, skin he can reach, until his fingers hook under the elastic band beneath Damian’s hips, mouth and nose hovering just above Damian’s crotch.

He doesn’t move his face as he starts to slide the silky fabric down. Damian raises just enough for Jason to drag the pants past the swell of his butt. As he finishes removing them he presses a wet kiss to the head of Damian’s cock before sucking it into his mouth, presses the tip of his tongue into the slit at the top. Damian’s hands fly to his head and tangle in his hair but don’t push him down.

He continues teasing just the head, swirling his tongue around, getting it so wet that saliva starts to drip down the shaft. Damian hasn’t made much noise, not earlier and not now, but each hitch in his breath, each hard swallow and sharp inhalation, is like music to Jason’s ears. He wonders briefly if this intensely pleased, self-satisfied feeling is how Damian felt while he was screaming.

Suddenly Damian jerks him off and pulls him back up by his hair. This time their mouths crash together with furious lust, less lips, more teeth. Jason bites Damian’s lower lip and drags it back with him as Damian pulls him away by his hair. Is that blood he tastes?

When Jason lets go and opens his eyes Damian is grinning and there’s definitely a little blood on his lip. He’s holding a little bottle between them and, damn, Jason never even felt him move to grab it.

Jason takes it without a word. Damian laces his fingers together behind his head to watch with that insufferable smirk. Jason rolls his eyes as he pours lube on his right hand and reaches back behind him to slick Damian up.

It’s pretty dark but Jason thinks Damian is doing a remarkable job of looking entirely unaffected by the slide of his hand. If it weren’t for the twitching, hard length in his grip Jason may have believed the act.

It never even crosses Jason’s mind to prep himself and it’s not until he’s guiding Damian to his entrance that he realizes they’d never cleaned up from earlier. He still has Damian’s cum inside him.

Damian is exactly the kind of possessive bastard to get off on that. So it’s with tremendous effort that Jason keeps his eyes open and on Damian’s face as he lowers himself onto the cock beneath him.

Damian’s façade cracks as the head pops in and he feels the leftover wet. His eyes widen and he holds his breath for a moment. It’s all Jason can do to stay focused on Damian’s face as he suppresses a pained hiss at the stretch of his sore rim.

Damian notices anyway and a concerned look flickers across his face, hands dropping to Jason’s thighs. He opens his mouth and Jason reaches up with his free hand to cover it, shaking his head as he slides down another inch.

Neither of them have spoken and it’s so fucking intimate that Jason feels like they’re under a spell. A spell he doesn’t want to break.

To prove he’s alright he drops himself down the remaining inches in one swift move and immediately pulls himself back up, almost all the way off, before slamming back down again.

His hand leaves Damian’s mouth just in time to hear the breath rush out of him. He puts both hands back on Damian’s solid chest and uses it for leverage to fuck himself hard and fast on Damian’s cock.

His mouth drops open and his head falls back in bliss. His prostate is still raw but there’s no escaping the assault as Damian rubs against it every single time Jason moves. Everything is sore and rung out but now it’s a good sore, like a workout… or a good cry. He doesn’t know if that dripping sensation is the old cum or the new lube but it doesn’t really matter because both their brains are saying it’s the former.

Damian only handles a couple minutes of this before his façade fully crumbles and he’s surging up, wrapping those strong arms under Jason’s. One hand tangles in his hair again and drags their faces together so that Damian can ravish his mouth. The other comes up his back, grips his shoulder, and pulls him bodily down while Damian’s hips jerk up.

And just like that Damian’s in control again. Jason can’t summon a single fuck to give because, with the new position, with Damian thrusting up into him and pulling him down on his cock at the same time, Jason doesn’t think anyone’s ever been this deep inside him. They’re still making out like they’ll die if they don’t, Jason’s palms are pressed against Damian’s cheeks, his fingers buried in soft, sleep tousled hair, while Damian is buried in his ass. He hopes Damian stays there forever. He doesn’t need food or water or air, just this. Just Damian holding him tight, pounding into him like nothing else exists.

Damian leans forward tilting Jason back so that his weight rests in Damian’s arms, never even slowing his movements. And Jason was wrong a moment ago because somehow Damian’s cockhead finds the back of Jason’s passage and drives into it repeatedly. He’s so full, Damian’s so deep, the sensation so oddly painful and arousing, he feels like it’s thrusting all the way up to his throat, like he’s choking on a dick that isn’t anywhere near his mouth. His mouth is hanging open but he can’t breathe, can’t get any air to even gasp let alone cry out the way he wants to.

He feels the warm, sticky splash of his orgasm on his belly, and probably Damian’s, before he even registers that it’s happened. It immediately leeches the strength from him and he feels Damian’s grip around him tighten to accommodate more of his weight. He manages to keep his arms wrapped around Damian’s neck while the man searches for his own end.

His pace increases for only a minute before his nails are digging into the flesh of Jason’s shoulder and the sensitive skin at his side. Jason feels the tip of Damian’s cock pressed against the wall of him, feels the spurt of Damian’s seed coat those furthest reaches, and he sees stars pop in front of his eyes as his body tries to orgasm again.

Jason almost passes out; clings to consciousness by looking into Damian’s eyes to see… adoration?

Damian runs his fingers through Jason’s wet hair, brushing back the white that had fallen into his eyes, and softly runs his knuckles across Jason’s cheek. Then, incredibly gently, without separating where their joined, turns Jason around so that he’s sitting in Damian’s lap, back to chest, hands clasped in Damian’s. Then Damian eases them back down to lie in the bed, staying inside Jason the whole time.

Jason is already fading, breathing already deep and calm as Damian’s thumbs rub soft little circles into his hands and wrists; he’s at that moment between consciousness and sleep, so maybe he dreams it, but the puff of breath on his neck as Damian speaks _feels_ real.

“My _Beloved_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I found four kittens recently and when I took them to the vet they were all boys. So now, I've got these for little asshole kittens running around being cute as shit annoying my ancient dogs and I get to shout things like "You better not climb that wall Dickie!" and "Dami, stop beating up Timmy!" and "Jay, don't attack the dogs, they're bigger than you!" Because somehow they all act exactly as you'd expect from their namesakes. 
> 
> Also, they're the inspiration for the cat thing in Damian's POV. Sorry about that :'(


	9. Words Have Meaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian is in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been putting off the Tumblr thing because I don't really understand it. But I've decided to put in some effort to figure it out. So, it's not much right now, but here it is. Hit me up.
> 
> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

Damian had woken in the exact spot he’d fallen asleep.

The second time.

The room had smelled like sweat and sex and he’d pulled out of Jason as gently as he could before he became too aroused, even though what he had really wanted was to wake Jason up with a hard thrust and go for round three.

He had indulged himself a little, had paused to watch his cum trickle out of Jason’s red, swollen hole.

He’d turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it and jerked himself off quietly to that image.

After he’d dried himself off, he’d laid out a fresh towel and washcloth for when the priest woke up, dressed in black trousers, black robe tied at his waist with a green belt, black leather slippers, and exited the bathroom. He’d glanced at Jason’s exposed back, walked soundlessly over to the nightstand, and had removed the shirt he’d left the night before. He’d considered taking away the pants too but had decided it’d look better to Jason’s mind if he left them. He’d smiled to himself as he’d left the room.

He’d had one of his people send for breakfast from his favorite restaurant. Not having known what Jason would like, he’d ordered one of everything. This, at least, was not an unusual request from him after spending a night with another.

Instead of retreating to his office, he had brought his work into the open living room so he could see when Jason came out of his bedroom.

That’s where he is now, his tablet open, files of jobs he needs to plan spread on the coffee table in front of him. He is finding it very difficult to focus on his work. His mind keeps wandering, imagining all the ways he want’s to take Jason, the positions, the toys, the accessories, the priest’s body flushed pink and glistening with sweat and tears as he begs…

Damian doesn’t pay attention when the food is delivered and laid out on the island counter. He knows it looks like he’s hard at work but he’s actually making plans to facilitate taking Jason home with him in a way that appears dispassionate and calculated. 

They’re loud, clanking dishes around and tripping over each other. Damian almost tells them to shut up but he wants Jason to wake up.

His servants are nearly finished when the bedroom door opens and Jason stumbles out rubbing his eyes, green silk pajama pants slung low on his hips, hair flattened on one side, tangled and wild on the other.

Damian spares a moment to be pleased with how edible Jason looks in green. Because if Damian has his way, and he usually does, Jason will be wearing a lot more of the al-Ghul colors… that is, when Damian allows him to wear anything.

Everyone in the kitchen stops and stares at him and Damian’s so damn grateful he’d had the foresight to put the matching shirt away, almost wishes he had taken the pants too.

Jason’s torso is absolutely _covered_ with bruises, bites, and scratches. Damian can see the imprints of his teeth, angry red crescents from his nails on Jason’s shoulder and side, long red streaks down his spine, purple marks all over including what are obviously fingers on his hips, disappearing below his waistband.

But, after traveling over every inch, Damian’s eyes rest where everyone else’s have, Jason’s throat. Damian’s hand is no longer a vague red splotch across the man’s neck, it’s dark purple with lighter lines clearly distinguishing between fingers that wrap around the curves like… like a collar. 

Damian feels heat pool in his gut. Yeah, that’s something he definitely wants to see.

His eyes dart briefly to his people in the kitchen. It’s something he wants them to see.

When Jason takes the hand away from his face and opens his eyes he freezes, blinks, and swallows. Which only intensifies gazes aimed at his throat.

His cheeks turn pink and he takes a step back like he’s going to go back into the bedroom to hide.

“Todd,” Damian says coolly, though not unkindly, looking back to his tablet. He couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to establish the nature of his desire for Jason in the minds of his subordinates.

Jason turns toward his voice and, bless him, winces at the movement.

Damian sees a couple of his people exchange mean little smirks and go back to their work. It doesn’t escape his notice that they go about it slower.

Jason’s eyes flicker back to the audience before he moves toward Damian in the living area. Damian wonders how far he can take this performance without running Jason off before he can explain.

The interior of the apartment is industrial in design, contrasting with the more modern, paneless, floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the entirety of the one side providing an unparalleled view of the city. The kitchen and living space are all in one large room with brick walls, concrete counters and black cabinets and professional grade, stainless steel appliances that have never been touched. The warm wood floors are covered by plush, expensive, Persian rugs.

Damian’s sitting on one of the brown, leather, chesterfield sofas. The other is directly across the coffee table from him. And at both other ends of the table sits a floor cushion.

As Jason comes to join him on the sofa, he decides to press his luck, just a little.

He holds up a hand, palm out as if to say halt, and Jason pauses, a little surprised.

“Sit,” Damian commands without looking up, motioning at the nearest cushion.

The one at his feet.

Jason hesitates, likely confused.

But he sits. Where he’s told to. And Damian feels his cock twitch with the desire to test the limits of that willingness to take orders.

“I’m certain the rest of you are completing your tasks in a reasonable amount of time in an effort to avoid the consequences of inefficiency,” Damian directs to the servants, boredom and apathy clear in his tone.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees them jump a little before quickly finishing laying out the food, bowing, and leaving him alone with Jason.

When Damian finally turns to Jason it’s to find the other man’s eyes staring up at him.

“What was that about?” Jason asks, voice rough and cracking, studying his face.

“What?” Damian feigns ignorance.

Jason tilts his head in a way that clearly says ‘seriously?’  He spreads his hands out, indicating his seat and says, “This little power play.”

Damian allows his eyes to rake over Jason’s body again before he reaches out and captures the other man’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling him an inch closer and tilting his head back just a little.

“Is there something about my behavior that is significantly different from last night?” he rumbles.

He enjoys the way Jason’s eyes drop to the carpet as he shudders and swallows.

“I guess not,” he mumbles softly.

Damian stands, smiles when Jason stays seated, and reaches down, offering Jason his hand.

Jason doesn’t look at him but accepts the help up.

When Jason’s standing, Damian slides a hand around his waist, rests his palm in the small of Jason’s back, and starts to guide him toward the kitchen.

He leaves Jason staring at the huge spread of food and moves to a cabinet.

“I imagine you must be quite hungry,” Damian offers over his shoulder, “I didn’t know what you’d like so I ordered one of everything.” He doesn’t add that the restaurant is entirely vegetarian and vegan. He knows Jason isn’t either but no meat is something that he’ll just have to get used to.

“Actually,” Jason starts, “what I could really use is—”

Damian holds out a glass of cold water and two Ibuprofen before he can finish and Jason looks at him in surprise before giving a small, grateful smile, and taking them.

He chugs the whole glass and Damian gets him another. Jason drinks half of that before slowing down and looking back at the food.

Damian heads for his favorite option, a baked dish of mixed berries and bulgur.

Jason goes for the coffee first, before piling fruit and banana pancakes onto a plate.

They eat in silence for a couple of minutes. Damian pretending not to notice Jason glancing at him every few seconds.

 “Can—can we talk?” Jason finally asks uncertainly.

“I don’t see anything preventing you from speaking,” Damian says darkly, as one of his many fantasies from earlier flashes the image of Jason blindfolded, gagged and bound naked to the floor in the middle of his office back home in his mind’s eye.

Jason gulps audibly at the suggestive tone.

“I just… I… the church is—” Jason stumbles over whatever it is he’s trying to say. Damian doubts he even knows what it is he wants to say, just that there’s something he needs to get out.

“Allow me,” Damian interjects and smirks at the relief that flashes across Jason’s face. He waits until Jason looks back to him, until those once again blue eyes blink questioningly as the pause continues.

Damian let’s his gaze wander openly across the expanse of pale, marked skin, before looking Jason in the eye.

“I leave for my home in two days. I want you to come with me.”

Jason chokes on his coffee.

Damian waits patiently for him to get control of the coughing. Finally Jason, eyes watering, looks back up at him in disbelief.

“I’ll be away from Gotham for much longer this time,” Damian continues, “I’m unsure of when exactly I’ll be able to return and I am reluctant to leave without you for such an extended period.”

Jason stares at him, eyes wide and mouth open, for a long moment.

“Damian, I—I’m flattered, I guess, but..” he looks _very_ uncomfortable, ”I can’t leave Gotham. The church—”

“The church isn’t going to let you back, Jason. Not in any real way,” Damian says harshly and Jason flinches, “Oh, they’ll ‘forgive’ you when you confess but, allowing another man to fuck you in the church, against the altar? Even if you don’t tell them all the things you said, they’re going to suspend, and eventually laicize, you.”

Jason’s staring at his plate, chest rising and falling a little more quickly.

Damian feels a small twinge of guilt. Jason’s pain in this moment is unequivocally his fault. Even though Jason will never think that, never blame anyone but himself, it doesn’t change the fact that this was all Damian. It’s not enough guilt to stop him, though.

“I suppose you could say nothing about any of it. Pretend it never happened.”

Jason’s attention snaps back to him for a moment, hilariously scandalized, before dropping back down. Damian huffs a little laugh at the idea that _lying_ is the moral line for the priest.

Damian waits a beat, then allows everything, his face, his posture, to soften, reaches out and takes Jason’s hand.

Jason tries, half-heartedly, to pull away. Damian just gives a little, reassuring squeeze.

The defeat flowing off Jason as their eyes meet again is everything Damian has wanted.

Damian fakes a small, sad smile.

“I’m sorry for my part in this,” he isn’t in the slightest, but Jason will appreciate it, so he says it, “But I think you’ve known for a while now that your place in this world is with me,” Damian says gently, but lets an authoritative edge seep through knowing how hard it is for Jason to resist.

He waits another moment. Jason looks away from him again, taking deep breaths, thinking. But his grip tightens a little in Damian’s hand.

It’s the encouragement Damian needs to take the final step. He hesitates and glances at the door, the world, the League, waiting just beyond.

He leaps.

He turns in his chair, facing Jason squarely, and tugs at the hand he’s holding.

Jason yelps in surprise as he slides out of his chair. Damian catches him before he crashes to the ground, lowers him to his knees.

He looks up from between Damian’s legs, the flash of annoyance not enough to drown the heat in his eyes.

Damian’s still holding Jason’s hand, low under the chair. His free hand cups Jason’s cheek.

“I want to keep you, Jason. You are…” it’s Damian’s turn to swallow hard. He has to give Jason this; this one little drop of honesty. He knows it won’t take much, that he doesn’t have to say anything about love, but even this… it’s more than he should say, more than he should admit, even to himself. Unlike Jason, Damian has no problem with lying; lying keeps him alive, keeps him powerful, and in charge. Honesty, that’s the dangerous thing for him, the thing that goes against everything he was ever taught, everything he knows. But he knows Jason won’t even consider coming with him without this.

And suddenly Damian’s assaulted by the vision of a future where he doesn’t give Jason this moment, where he’s freed Jason from the bonds of priesthood, can’t follow through now just because what he always planned on saying became true at some point, and Jason, with no church and no Damian, goes back to Thomas Wayne.

“…You are… important… to me,” Damian manages to whisper, so low that if it weren’t for the way Jason’s eyes widened Damian would have thought the man would be unable to hear it.

“That said,” Damian continues before Jason can say anything sentimental, “there will be some rules, some things that you would have to understand.”

Jason narrows his eyes. Damian would prefer to not mention this until Jason had agreed to come with him. He’s still not going to go into specifics until then but he would feel bad if he didn’t mention it at all. More importantly, if Jason does agree, Damian can use the warning as leverage if Jason is too resistant to the specifics.

For both of their safety, these are things on which Damian cannot bend.

“My world, it’s… it can be dangerous. Not that the world isn’t generally dangerous,” he adds to remind Jason about the everyday horrors of being at the mercy of Amazon, Atlanteans, and metas, “It’s just that, the nature of… this,” he moves his hand between them, “the people in my world can’t know. They can’t know that I… that you’re… important… that you’re any… different from anyone else. You will have to understand… that I might have to say or do things, like earlier, to foster a perception of distance, of indifference.”

He brushes his thumb across Jason’s lips before slipping it under his chin and firming his grip.

“But in return,” Damian pauses, he doesn’t really have much to offer, not to someone like Jason who will be unimpressed by material wealth. He looks into Jason’s eyes, willing him to understand the significance of his next words, then finishes, “I will worship you.”

It’s as close to ‘I’ll be yours’ as he can get.

Jason’s breath is shaky. Damian is immensely grateful for the vast training that allowed him to stay outwardly calm through the whole speech.

He releases Jason’s face, pushes his chair back, and stands.

“You have time to think,” Damian says down to the still kneeling man, “You don’t have to answer now. Finish eating, shower. I’ll get you some fresh clothes. Then you can… you can stay, or go home, or go wherever you want. I hope to consider my words.”

Damian wants him to stay. But hopes he goes home.

He’s pretty sure that whatever conversation waits for Jason at the church is only going to push Jason into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are loved and appreciated <3


	10. Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a Tumblr now. It's not much. Still trying to figure that place out. But hit me up. 
> 
> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

Jason does not finish breakfast.

He just wants to go home. The last few days have happened so fast and been such a blur and he doesn’t feel any less lost or confused than he did yesterday.

He’s decided to pass on the shower too, just get out and get some air as fast as he can. Then he moves to stand and the wet, gooey sensation inside him means waiting until he gets back to the rectory is absolutely not an option.

He finds the towel and washcloth Damian set out for him, turns the water on scalding, and climbs in.

It’s a _really_ nice shower. It’s big and delightfully dark. Black subway tile and dark grout cover the walls punctuated only by a black tempered glass door. The floor is cement under teak slats. Jason feels a little like he’s showering in a waterfall or a cave and it’s tranquil; soothing.

He briefly considers lying to Father Williams about everything, just like Damian suggested. Then, when he doesn’t think he’s a good enough liar to pull that off even if he wanted to, he considers confessing to the sex and leaving out all the blasphemous details, like the words he said. And the fact they’d fucked on the altar. That would probably allow him to stay with the church. Afterall, plenty of priests have given into this particular weakness. That’s not what’s gonna get him kicked out.

Jason rests his head against the wall. He suspects that some people would be able to justify that in their minds but he’s not one of them. To Jason, the sex is the least of his sins. What he really needs absolution for is… all the other stuff. And he can’t minister to his people, can’t absolve others of their sins, he can’t be a proxy for Christ while his own sins fester in his soul.

He’s never cared for hypocrisy. He’s not about to embody the worst of it.

Which means his life, the one he built for himself, the one he dedicated to helping others and showing the jaded people of Gotham that the world wasn’t just violence and vigilantism… it’s gone.

He takes a deep, shaky, breath, trying to breathe through the sudden pain of loss and fear of the unknown. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites back the tears. He can mourn this later. Prolonging the inevitably awkward and humiliating conversation is just prolonging the worst of the torment.  

He straightens and reaches for the soap. Its scent is pleasantly mild; woody and simple and it smells the way Damian’s skin had tasted.

He shudders and tries to push thoughts of Damian from his mind because that’s a whole different problem. But it’s already too late. He can’t stop himself from thinking about what Damian’s home is like. Then he scolds himself. Just because he’s lost his place with the church doesn’t mean he has to leave, to lose, Gotham too. This city, it’s his. It’s in his blood and he can’t abandon her just because Damian wants him to… to what, exactly? Jason could tell what it took for Damian to say the things he did, that ‘you’re important’ is likely as close as Damian’s ever come to saying ‘I love you’ and likely as close as he’ll ever get. But does that change the fact that it seems as though Damian is asking him to allow himself to be paraded around like a trophy or a servant or a slave.

He tries to pull back those thoughts too, tries to stop his imagination before it can go further down that path but he’s too late again. Between the scent of Damian and the vivid images of himself naked and kneeling at Damian’s feet, he’s half hard in moments.

He starts washing himself, trying to ignore it and failing. His body is warm and super sensitive and every time his fingers scrape his scalp, or the bar slides past a nipple, or he just lightly brushes one of the _many_ marks littered across his form, his skin tingles.

Jason sighs. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.

He leans forward, bracing his left arm on the shower wall, leaning his forehead against his arm, and reaches back with his right hand.

He winces slightly as he slips a finger into his hole. He curls it inside himself to scoop out the cum, and simultaneously, tries to brush his prostate.

He can’t quite reach at this angle but the slow, easy glide in and out feels nice anyway. He adds a second finger, trying to get deeper. Both because he’s getting pretty worked up and because he can still feel Damian’s seed further back, out of reach.

After another few minutes of increasing desperation and frustration Jason lets out a disappointed whine; louder than he would have liked.

“Jason? Are you alright?

Jason jumps, startled, and chokes on a sound that may have been a shout if he hadn’t inhaled water when he’d gasped in surprise.

He’s too busy coughing to realize Damian is opening the door.

“Jason is everyth— _fuck_.”

It’s the breathlessness of the last word that makes him realize his still has his fingers in his ass.

He can’t meet Damian’s eyes; wonders if it’s possible he turned even redder than the heat from the shower has made him. But he can see that Damian is still dressed, he’d only kicked off the slippers before getting in the shower.

Arousal and worry battle for dominance on his handsome face.

“Do—would like some assistance?” Damian asks, tone surprisingly unsure. Like he’s not certain what he’s offering to help with but wants to do it anyway.

Jason chuckles.

“Your ‘assistance’ will kind of defeat the purpose.”

 “Oh I don’t know about that,” Damian grins mischievously and takes off his robe.

Before Jason can protest, Damian pushes him against the wall with one hand while the other slides down Jason’s wet back and over a rounded buttock before slipping between them. Jason feels Damian lean in and layer himself over Jason’s back and then lightly nip the junction of his neck and shoulder. 

“You were fucking yourself with two fingers, right? Damian rumbles in his ear.

Jason gasps when Damian’s free hand wraps around his leaking cock, thumbing the slit before giving excruciatingly slow, light stokes.

“Was—wasn’t fucking,” he chokes out, “Ju—just cleaning – _ahh_ —up.”

“Uh huh,” Damian hums and gives a firmer stroke ending with a small twist that makes Jason groan. Then lets go completely. “Answer my question.”

“Yes!” Jason whines, “Yes… two!”

“Such a good boy,” Damian practically purrs in his ear as he shudders, “I should probably reward such obedience to encourage future compliance.”

Jason only has a second to process that and, with how his brain has completely relinquished control to other organs, it’s not nearly enough.

Damian presses two fingers into him all the way to the knuckle and Jason gasps. Damian definitely has a better angle to reach the depths Jason needs.

The fingers hook and drag down his passage and Jason cries out in pleasure when they slide over his prostate. Then they’re gone.

Jason unsuccessfully tries to hold back the soft whimper that escapes.

He can hear Damian’s low chuckle slice through the sound of falling water and echo off the tile.

Then the fingers are back and Damian repeats the same motion; enter, hook, drag, exit, over and over again for several minutes, sometimes scissoring his fingers wide or snagging on the rim of Jason’s hole and tugging.

Jason realizes, through the haze of lust and pleasure, that Damian is actually helping. While he’s wet and slippery on the outside thanks to the water pouring down his and Damian’s skin (and Damian’s trousers) he’s not feeling that uncomfortable wetness _inside_ anymore.

“Better?” Damian asks against his neck as he pulls his hand away leaving Jason feeling empty.

Jason just nods. He wants to ask for more but at least he’s to the point now where he can finish himself off after Damian leaves.

“Good,” Damian says. Jason can feel the other man smile against his skin, “Now time for your reward.”

And again, faster than Jason can process, Damian’s touch and warmth leaves.

He goes to move when a strong hand presses down on his back and keeps him leaning against the wall, bent at the waist.

“Stay still.”

Jason swallows as Damian’s hands go to his ankles and guide his legs further apart then slide up the insides of his legs, before spreading his asscheeks open.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Damian murmurs. Jason doesn’t think he was meant to hear it so he pretends he didn’t. But he did, and it makes him feel all fuzzy inside.

Except where Damian’s tongue plunges into him. That doesn’t feel fuzzy. That feels fucking amazing and Jason doesn’t bother trying to contain the scream that passes his lips.

Damian thrusts his tongue in and out a few times, wiggling it around, rolling the edges up to make it narrower and hollow, flexing it to make it wider and stiffer. He pulls out completely and runs the tip of his tongue around the rim, teasingly, flattens it and swipes across the hole before pressing his lips to Jason’s entrance and sucking.

Jason cries out again and twitches. He wants to press back against Damian’s hot mouth, throw his hand back and tangle his fingers in Damian’s hair.

But Damian told him to stay still. And if this is the reward for answering a question…

Damian eats him out for what feels like an eternity of bliss.

Then Jason, completely lost in the sensation of the hot water, the steam, and Damian, feels the man’s hand wrap around his cock again.

There are no maddeningly slow, soft strokes this time. Damian jerks him eagerly, timing with the movements of his mouth.

It only takes a moment before he’s spilling on the tile and watching his cum get washed away down the drain.

Damian grips Jason’s shoulders and turns him gently. Jason watches, through hooded lids and wet lashes, as Damian brings his hand to his own lips. Jason sees several translucent white ropes of cum on Damian’s hand, stares transfixed as Damian, without taking his eyes off Jason’s, sucks each finger into his mouth before dragging his tongue across his palm.

Jason shivers. So fucking hot.

Damian cups his cheek and runs his thumb across Jason’s cheekbone.

“Apologies,” he says, and Jason can’t even begin to imagine what Damian should be sorry for, “I’ve wanted to do that for quite some time now. I couldn’t resist the opportunity when it presented. Especially if…”

He smiles. He doesn’t finish the thought but Jason doesn’t need him to; especially if Jason decides not to leave with him.

And just like that, Jason’s back to worrying about the flood of complicated and major life decisions he’s suddenly bombarded with.

“I’ll let you finish up,” Damian says as he heads to the shower door and out into the rooms beyond.

Jason sags against the tile, exhausted.

What the fuck is he going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this up. I finished it instead of sleeping because the next week and a half-ish I'm going to try to do the SladeRobin Week (even though I've never written Slade before but, hey, you've never done everything until you do it, right?) and I wanted to post an update before I started that. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy. 
> 
> Your comments and Kudos are my sustenance.


	11. Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't exactly go as Jason planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay I got Dick a little bigger role! I knew I wanted too when he made a little cameo way back in what? Chapter 4? 
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, I found the image that inspired this fic! It's technically BruJay but it looked so much like Damian.
> 
>  
> 
> <http://eskimosheep.tumblr.com/post/152876901921>  
> 

All the cool autumn air does when it hits him is remind him of how banged up he is.

 _Ha_ , ‘banged’ up.

Jason rolls his eyes at his own joke. It’s not funny. Not really.

The fact that he only feels the wind on his face and not cutting through his clothes drives home the fact that he’s not in his clothes; not the brown silk-lined, tweed slacks; not the green, high-neck cashmere sweater or the golden colored wool scarf that hides his bruised throat when the sweater proved insufficient; not the camel winter coat that Jason is pretty sure is also cashmere, or the brown leather loafers, belt, and gloves. Jason is pretty sure he could sell everything he owns, including the Nietzsche, and still not be able to afford the fabric he’s currently wrapped in.

What really bothers him though is just how well it all fits. Like it was made for him. He wouldn’t put it past Damian to have, at some point in the last few months, taken his measurements without his knowledge.

That arrogance and possessiveness was a lot hotter last night.

And this morning.

Actually, it’s still…

No. It is a problem _now_ , Jason thinks stubbornly.

He eyes the car Damian called for him, bites his lip and glances in the direction of the church. He’d really rather walk, even in this outfit. Taking Damian’s car, driven by Damian’s driver, maybe the same one from last night… it feels like… well, he can’t be sure what a high-class prostitute feels like but it’s the parallel his mind is drawing. Even if Damian didn’t technically pay him, the clothes feel close enough.

The church, however, is twenty blocks away and Jason isn’t exactly moving easily.

He gets in and the giant driving it doesn’t say a word to him. Works for Jason, he doesn’t want to talk to Damian’s… servants? henchmen?

Staff.

The drive is mercifully brief but Jason starts getting anxious and fidgety as they draw closer to the church. He had intended on just getting this over with but now that he’s minutes away from that conversation, he finds he’s not even remotely prepared to face it.

“Stop!” he says frantically, breath coming a little shallower. He’s getting really tired of the choking sensation… or rather, he’s getting really tired of the confused arousal he feels when he suddenly can breathe. Apparently, it doesn’t even matter anymore whether there’s a hand on him or not.

The driver frowns at him in the mirror but doesn’t slow, “The master said to take you home.”

Master? Jason will have to come back to that later.

“I was standing right there when he called you. He said to take me wherever I want. I want to stop here.”

The driver’s frown deepens and he narrows his eyes. But he pulls the car to the curb. Jason doesn’t know why the driver cares about stopping a couple blocks early.

He stumbles out and slams the car door harder than he intended.

His feet take him along a familiar path while he tries to calm his mind. It’s ok, he keeps telling himself, the priest thing is over, it’s not the end of the world. He has options. He can…

He can what?

It’s not like he has many skills. He was still basically a kid when he joined the cult, fresh off the streets where he stole enough to survive and start a nasty drug habit the cult could exploit. Then, after he’d helped Thomas deal with Brother Blood, he’d gone home with him, to the manor, and lived there happily for nearly a year before that crazy bi—

He stops himself from thinking that as his hand closes on a doorknob and twists. She’s definitely crazy but it’s not her fault, what happened, what made her snap. Thomas had snapped too, in his way. And even though she’d beat him to death, Jason didn’t have it in his heart to hate her. He does hope someone… helps her find peace soon. But regardless, she’d killed him and somehow he came back. He’s been a priest for pretty much the entirety of his second life.

“Wow, Father. You look incredible.”

Jason snaps his head up to find he’s in the little coffee shop he likes. It’s warm and cozy and the cute barista is smiling at him brightly.

He sighs, feeling a weight lift at being somewhere familiar. And neutral.

“Uh, thanks,” Jason mutters awkwardly as he walks toward the counter.

“Like a sexy professor. I’ve never seen you dressed up before,” the barista, Dick, says as he leans over the counter with a sly smile, eyes twinkling. Jason had always wondered if he really went by ‘Dick’ of if he just liked to get the priest to say the word.

“Huh?” Jason is distracted and Dick’s words are getting through, but slowly.

“The outfit… you’re not wearing your… whatever your priest clothes are called.”

He’s reached the counter and blinks for a second before looking up at Dick, “Oh…” then he narrows his eyes in confusion because he’s definitely come in here in street clothes before, “You’ve seen me out of the vestments before.”

Dick’s eyebrows raise a little and he sits up straighter, grin widening, “I think I would have remembered that, Father,” he says with a wink, sliding over a large mug of black coffee. Jason’s usual morning order.

Jason feels the heat rise in his cheeks and wonders vaguely just how red he turns. He reaches to his back pocket for his wallet but…

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I, uh, don’t have my wallet. I’m just going to—” and motions to the table in the far corner as he moves toward it. He just needs a little time to pull himself together before he goes to the church.

With his back to the counter he misses the way Dick’s face falls in concern. He doesn’t see Dick mutter something to his coworker, grab the coffee and pour another.

So he’s a little surprised when the barista sits across from him, easy smile tugging at his lips, and pushes one of the mugs across the table to him.

“On the house this time.”

“Um… thank you,” Jason says, peeling off his—the gloves before reaching for the white porcelain and cradling it in his palms, soaking up the heat for a moment before bringing it to his lips.

Dick eyes him while he takes a long, steadying sip. When he sets the cup down he forces himself to look up at the barista’s worried gaze.

“Is everything ok?” Dick asks, “You seem… troubled.”

Jason can’t help it, he laughs and it comes out more than a little hysterical. When he stops he just stares at the swirling tendrils of steam rising off the dark surface of his coffee.

“You know,” Dick says, encouraging smile plastered on that impossibly cheerful face, “It’s a little known fact that caffeine-slingers are actually better to talk to than bartenders.”

Jason smiles despite himself.

“Does it have anything to do with the fancy new duds?”

Jason snorts and looks up into laughing blue eyes. His smile fades and he swallows.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I—I’ve done something… They’re… not my clothes.”

Dick nods knowingly, “The walk of shame must be particularly stressful for a priest.”

Jason chuckles soundlessly. There’s no judgement in the comment, Dick’s just keeping things light, making sure Jason knows that he understands without Jason having to actually say the hard stuff.

“Yeah…” he sighs again, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Surely your not the first priest to fall off that bandwagon,” Dick laughs. He stops immediately when Jason cringes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not the… the sex…” Jason looks away from him, back into the cooling beverage at his fingers, “I… I think… I think we left my clothes… at—at the altar.”

Jason glances up in time to see Dick’s eyes go wide and his smile turn impish.

“Wow, when you do something you really go for it, huh?”

Everything under his skin gets warm with embarrassment and he reaches for the scarf; has it half way off before he remembers that, sure it’s there to protect from the cold but that’s not really it’s primary purpose. He winds it back around his neck casting a furtive glance at Dick to see if he noticed.

The barista’s gaze has darkened, but not in the way Jason is fast becoming used to. For the first time since Jason started coming into this shop, Dick’s expression is stormy, brows knit, mouth a thin line… decidedly not happy.

“Father,” he says low and serious, reaching for his hand, “Did someone force you? Did they hurt you?”

Dick’s eyes flicker to Jason’s wrists, just visible under the sleeve of the coat, and the barista grinds his teeth at the purple and red bracelets that had bloomed under his skin.

Jason stares at him for a moment, wondering how someone who is capable of caring so much for a near stranger can even still exist in Gotham.

“No,” Jason manages to mutter. He pulls his hand back and pats the top of Dick’s gratefully, “No one forced me—”

“That doesn’t answer the second part of the question,” Dick says, not taking his eyes off the priest’s face.

“Well, that part is harder to answer.”

“It’s not though, it’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.”

Jason stares at him, looking straight into deep blue oceans, and takes a deep breath.

“Oh…” Dick mumbles before Jason has to say anything. Jason gives the other man’s hand a squeeze, mostly in gratitude for not making him say it out loud, and leans back in his seat.

“So, uh, you had fun then, I guess,” another smile tugs his lips and Jason is happy they’re back in friendlier territory.

“You could say that, yeah.”

“They going to kick you out?”

“They don’t just kick you out,” Jason explains, “Usually it’s just suspension but… when it’s not, it’s a process…”

“What does a suspended priest do with his time?” Dick asks half curious, half joking.

“Missionary work, mostly,” Jason frowns. He’s never liked the idea of proselytizing. The way he figures it, everyone knows about Christianity. If a person is searching for a higher power they’ll find it whatever way works for them. Like he’d told the witch girl who’d popped into the church out of thin air only a few days after he met Damian… God, the universe, whatever you want to call it, has a plan, and people will find their path when the time is right.

“You don’t look thrilled by the idea,” Dick’s smooth voice breaks through his musings.

“I… I’m not,” Jason looks up at him.

“What? Did I say something rude again?”

Dick looks worried and Jason smiles at that raw sincerity, too rare in the world.

“No. Actually, you were right, this has been really… helpful.”

Jason stands and Dick follows him.

“Oh, good,” Dick grins, “Always happy to be useful.”

“Thank you,” Jason replies, putting the gloves back on and reaching a hand out to Dick, “For the coffee and the conversation.”

Dick frowns at Jason’s outstretched hand. His wrist is hidden again but it apparently still doesn’t sit well with the barista.

Then Dick beams again and pushes past Jason’s arm to wrap him in a big, warm hug. Jason’s surprise is quickly buried as he winces when Dick unknowingly presses against all his other, better concealed injuries. But then Jason leans into it and hugs the man back.

It feels nice, just an innocent, friendly hug. Firm but gentle. He sighs into it… he didn’t realize how much he needed something like that.

Dick rests his hands on Jason’s upper arms as he pulls away, “Good luck, Father.”

Then he’s gone. Back behind the counter, helping another customer.

And Jason’s out the door, walking purposefully toward the church.

He’ll find his path. When the time is right, God, the universe, whatever, will show him what to do.

 

*              *              *

 

He feels a twist in his stomach as he looks at the altar. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved that his torn and come-stained clothing isn’t there or mortified that it’s absence means Father Williams probably found and removed them. Fortunately, he doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it.

“Jason?”

He turns and feels a lump form in his throat as Father Williams approaches. He doesn’t look angry but Jason can see that whatever he is feeling, he’s trying very hard to keep it off his face. They’ve known each other a long time now.

“Matt,” Jason says weakly, suddenly drained, “I… I need to talk to you—”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Jay,” the other priest says kindly, if perhaps a little irritably, “Your friend took care of it.”

Jason narrows his eyes in confusion. He knows Damian got up before him but he couldn’t have had enough time to do anything. And Jason’s pretty sure Damian wouldn’t be interested in smoothing anything over.

“What friend? Listen, Matt, last night… my—my clothes…”

“Yeah, about that,” Father Williams scowls, “I just threw those away. Figured you’d just want to order replacements.”

“Replacements?” Jason is really confused… the conversation isn’t going any of the millions of ways it’s played out in his head.

Father Williams puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder, “I know the Bishop has absolved you and everything is officially right in the eyes of God and the Church but,” his expression softens, “I’m here if you want to do a formal, real confession. You’re a good man, a good priest, and I don’t expect a bureaucratic formality to be enough ease your conscious.”

Jason’s mind is reeling. The Bishop has already absolved him? Without a confession? Or any penance? How could he even know already—

Jason’s heart plummets into his stomach.

“Matt, what friend?”

“That older guy who used to come to services when you first started,” Jason’s prior confusion now mirrored on the other priest’s face, “I think he’s kind of big time in Gotham… I’d know his name if you—”

“Thomas,” Jason mumbles. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“That’s it,” Matt says, snapping his fingers, “Thomas Wayne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick says 'duds' because deep down, he's a dork.


	12. Game Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason confronts Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up on [Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

He has half a mind to ask the cab to wait. Thomas would pay for it and he’d have a fast exit if he needed it, but Jason has a lot he needs to get off his chest. It’s not going to be a brief conversation and, if he’s honest, he’s angry enough that the thought of inconveniencing Thomas by making him drive him back to the city, or maybe even asking Damian to pick him up at the manor, just to be spiteful, gives him too much satisfaction.

He’d taken the time to talk to Father Williams about his transgression and his intention to leave the church and Matt had agreed that, without repentance, it was for the best. Then Jason had changed into _his_ jeans, _his_ black t-shirt and boots, _his_ red hoodie, and _his_ threadbare black winter coat, careful to remove everything that came from Damian, marched out to the curb and hailed a taxi. The more he thought about it the angrier he got. The only way Thomas could have known is if he was spying on him.  

The driver asks him if he’s sure about staying, eying the house’s state of disrepair, and Jason reassures her and hands over the payment.

As the cab leaves the drive, Jason shakes his head at the house. Paint is peeling, shingles are falling, windows are cracked. Most people think Thomas Wayne lives in the city and that the family’s ancestral manor is haunted. Jason knows better. This place looked like a home not so long ago. It’s clear Thomas has given in to his apathy.

He feels a guilt he knows he shouldn’t as he climbs the steps and bangs on the door. He couldn’t have stayed just to stop Thomas from spiraling. He had needed to do what was best for himself. Still, he can’t help but feel at fault.

It takes a while. Jason knows he’s probably in the cave, getting ready to go out. When it takes too long, Jason looks up at the corner where he knows there’s a hidden camera.

“Let me in. Now. We need to talk.”

After another minute, the door opens and Jason shoves past the older man like he owns the place.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here just to thank me.” Thomas, in the Batman suit but not the cowl and cape, is grinning but it’s self-satisfied and humorless.

Jason turns on him as he closes the front door, eyes catching on the water stained walls, the splintering paneling, the rusting hardware, the thick layer of dust covering even the floor, and his anger gives way to shock and concern.

“I—Tom…” Jason murmurs, “Are you—are you _living_ in the cave?”

Thomas’s smug smile falls off his face and his lip curls into a sneer.

“Why? Do you suddenly care again?”

Jason searches the other man’s face, looking for any sign of the man he’d fallen in love with so many years ago but all he finds is bitterness and rage.

“You know I’ve never stopped caring,” Jason says softly, patiently.

Thomas snorts. “I haven’t stayed up here since you left,” he growls, “If you’d cared, you would have known that before now.”

Jason steps out of the way as Thomas storms past him, down the hall, toward the secret entrance to the cave, and scrambles to follow. What Thomas said isn’t fair and isn’t true, Jason knows that, wants to say it out loud to make it clear that, whether the other man is aware of it or not, that’s the kind of emotionally manipulative bullshit that played a part in their split. Jason bites his tongue. It won’t do anything but piss Thomas off more.

Thomas had left the clock pushed to the side of the hidden opening and Jason barely manages to slip through before Thomas gets it closed again with a scowl. He presses his palm to a biometric scanner that Jason doesn’t remember being there before and there’s the heavy scrap of metal and muffled thud of a serious locking mechanism.

Jason waits until they get to the bottom of the steps. It’s just as dank as ever down here. There are motion sensor lights on the steps to guide them down and a circle of heaters and lights on the cave floor enclosing the space Thomas has clearly been living in. There’s a medical table and supplies in one area, a cot and dresser in another, a bunch of bookshelves set up around a desk with a computer. And finally, there’s the shrine.

That, at least, hasn’t changed.

Jason can’t help the grimace he gives the photo of Martha.

“Tom, wait—” he reaches out for Thomas’s shoulder, to get him to stop walking away. But Thomas stops and spins around before Jason can touch him.

His eyes are cold and… hurt.

“What, Jason?” he barks, “What seemingly reasonable and wise platitudes do you want to share?” he sneers again, “Or do you want to get back to your original purpose for coming here and tell me off for interfering in your life?”

“I—”

“Or maybe you’d like to tell me how you went from ‘I don’t know what you think is happening with Damian’ two days ago to letting him fuck you in your church last night?”

Jason stiffens.

Thomas is fuming. His eyes are wide, teeth clenched shut, hands balled into fists, and his chest is heaving rapidly.

Jason swallows and looks Thomas in the eye.

“I don’t owe you any explanations,” he starts, as gentle as he can while staying firm. Thomas doesn’t even blink. “You and I aren’t together. My choices are mine to make. Damian has been nothing but—”

“Damian al Ghul has been nothing but the manipulative bastard he was bred to be,” Thomas snarls, “He’s been using you, Jason. To—”

“To get to you?”

“Yes.”

Jason holds his gaze. Steels himself.

“And how about you, Tom? You’ve had years to tell me you wanted me to come home. _Years_ to stop blaming me for everything and take a little responsibility. _Years_ to stop telling me I’d be better off and tell me you missed me. But after all this time, it was two days ago you realized it? And that has _nothing_ to do with Damian? _You’re_ not trying to manipulate me?”

The moment stretches between them as they glare at each other.

Jason cracks first. His anger drains out of him. This is exhausting. Maybe he’s better off without either of them.

“I appreciate your completely altruistic, not at all self-interested, help smoothing things over with the church,” Jason says sarcastically as he turns toward the steps, “But I’m leaving anyway. I won’t be a hypocrite.”

He’ll walk out to the road and either call Damian or a cab company.

He makes it up a couple of steps before he’s grabbed roughly from behind and thrown into the nearest stalagmite.

When Jason shakes off his surprise at the attack—and the pain that shoots through his battered body—he looks up in confusion.

Thomas is standing between him and the only exit.

“Damian is an assassin, Jason. More than that, he’s the head of a shadow organization that uses murder and terror to influence and control geopolitics. I’m sorry,” he rumbles with no hint of actual remorse, “but I’m not allowing you to fall in with him any further. If you’re not returning to the church, you’re staying here.”

Jason gawks at him, completely stunned. Thomas isn’t actually _kidnapping_ him?

“You’re not serious?”

“I am. I’ve already let it get too far.” Thomas steps closer and reaches for Jason’s face.

Jason jerks out of range.

Thomas drops his hand and gives Jason a sad look. “This really is for your own good.”

And just like that Jason’s anger burns hot and strong in his chest again.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he seethes, “You’re not my father, my husband, my partner… you’re an ex, Tom. You don’t get a say in my life.”

Thomas flinches a little at the rant. He grabs his cowl and cape off the dresser and pulls them on before heading up the steps.

Jason starts to follow him; pulls up hard when he turns suddenly.

“I love you, Jason. I’ve failed you before. I won’t fail you again. Either you’ll understand one day, or you’ll hate me forever. I’ve made my peace with both. Because at least you’ll still be _alive_ to feel those things.”

He presses his palm to the biometric scanner and opens the door.

Jason bolts up the remaining steps as quickly as he can. But Thomas is Batman and he’s faster.

Jason slams into the reinforced back of the clock door.

“TOM!!!” he screams and bangs his fists against the metal, “Tom, you fucking bastard, let me out!”

He’s certain his cries can’t be heard on the other side.

“TOM!”

He slides down, plopping his ass onto the floor. He winces at the soreness that shoots through him.

He thumps his head back against the door in frustration.

_God dammit_ , he thinks, _has everyone gone insane?_

*                *                *

 

“Yes?” Damian answers his cell on the first ring when he sees the caller ID.

“The priest went to Wayne’s, as you expected, Master.”

“And?”

“And Batman just left the property.”

Damian rolls his eyes. Ubu is loyal and an excellent fighter but he’s not the brightest.

“The priest?” Damian prods.

“The priest is not with Batman and has not left the property.”

Damian frowns. He expects the manor is alarmed and boobytrapped. He’s sure his people could manage but it’s just Ubu out there for now and he’s more the bodyguard type than the ninja type. Besides, Damian isn’t certain that he needs to worry yet.

“Check the house for heat signatures. Figure out where he is and keep me informed on his location in the house.”

He ends the call and goes to dress in his uniform. He doesn’t often have to get his hands dirty anymore. He’s very much looking forward to wetting them with Wayne’s blood. He’s just waiting for the opportunity.

It’s not even a couple minutes until his phone rings again and he sighs in exasperation when he sees it’s Ubu.

“A text when he moves rooms is fine, Ubu. You don’t have to call every time.”

“Master, the scanner isn’t picking up any human heat signature in the house or on the premises.”

Damian goes very still.

“What?”

“The priest entered the building and did not leave, Master. I am positive. But he is also no longer in the house.”

Damian is silent for a long minute, thinking.

“Fine. Keep watching. If the priest or Batman or anyone else shows up, if anything changes, let me know immediately.” Damian keys open a locked drawer in his closet and pulls out a sleek katana with a black and green handle and gold tassels. His grandfather’s sword. He’s only used it twice in his life. Tonight will be the third. “I will be there very soon.”


	13. Paradise Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fight night at Wayne Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys. This is essentially the end of the first part. All that's left is a short epilogue to set up the sequel. I hope at least some of you are still interested in that :D

Damian waits until his men tell him Batman is on the far side of the city. Then he enters on the second floor and carefully picks his way through the manor, deactivating or avoiding any traps he encounters.

He’s certain Wayne knows the moment he sets foot on the property so he doesn’t have much time to find Jason.

Years ago, he’d memorized Wayne manor’s floor plan. The first time Damian had come to Gotham was ostensibly for business. But his mother and grandfather had always kept him from the city, from his other grandparent, out of some odd sense of morality, a desire to appease Wayne and an attempt to atone for their unwitting affront. However, Damian, like all children, had been curious about where he’d come from. The moment his mother and grandfather were no longer in the picture he’d come seeking answers, wanting to know his father’s family.

Maybe harboring a lonely child’s hope that _this_ side of his lineage could see him as something more than a weapon, more than tool to continue a questionable legacy.

When Batman attacked him without even the perfunctory “Get the hell out of my town” Damian has since become accustomed to, without even a moment’s hesitation or even the possibility of conversation, it was clear that Wayne didn’t consider him a weapon or a tool or a means to an end.

No, Wayne thought Damian was an abomination.

Wayne was unable, or rather, he was unwilling, as Damian learned yesterday, to see him as family. To give him a chance to be anything more than an enemy.

Damian pauses in front of a dusty and damaged family portrait. It takes a moment to recognize Thomas Wayne. The man is younger but it’s the happiness in the expression, the joy in the eyes, that throws Damian off. He supposes the woman is his grandmother, Martha. He knows what happened to her, that she broke so completely she terrorizes the city, trying to drag Thomas down into the madness with her.

That makes the boy, dark hair and blue eyes somehow still vibrant despite the many years and spoiled paints, his father.

Damian stares. He’s never really seen the boy whose blood gave him life. There aren’t many images of Bruce Wayne online, he’d died so young. The resemblance is clear to Damian, he easily sees his features reflected in the ruined canvas. Damian has his mother’s eyes and skin tone, but the rest of his face is his father’s.

He huffs bitterly at the image. He would have thought that his resemblance to his father would have been a place to start with Wayne. Perhaps it would have been easier if he hadn’t looked anything like Bruce Wayne.

The staircase to take him down to first floor or to the upper levels is before him. Even if he hadn’t just wasted a precious minute in the past, he still wouldn’t have time to search the whole house. Damian had half expected to find Jason tied (willingly or otherwise) to Thomas Wayne’s bed, which is the largest reason he’d started on the second floor (he’d also expected the ground level to have the most security barring entrances).

But Jason is clearly not in any of the bedrooms and Thomas Wayne is clearly not living in the manor.

He must be in the cave.

Damian heads down the stairs quickly, scowling. He knows where his grandfather had entered that fateful day over two decades ago, but he also knows that path is closed, sealed up and barricaded immediately.

This could take more time than he has.

Fortunately, he catches a break. Damian would never call himself a detective by any stretch. But he is master of assassination and political maneuvering, skilled in observation and highly intuitive. Traits that have aided him in solving more than one mystery in the past.

Not that he needed them for this specific instance.

When he gets to the hallway at the bottom of the stairs and must choose a direction, he chooses the way with two distinct sets of footprints disturbing the thick layer of dust that has settled over everything else.

When those footprints abruptly stop in front of a clock, Damian rolls his eyes at the cliché and leans closer to examine it.

It’s clearly ‘broken’. The hands don’t point to the right time. He moves them so that they point to 2:19, Bruce Wayne’s birthday. Then 9:25, the date of his death. Damian frowns when neither work. Everything he knows about Thomas Wayne tells him the passcode for the entrance to the lair his vigilante alter-ego uses to wreak vengeance on Gotham for the death of his son would be related to that son.

What other numbers could be associated with—

On a whim, Damian takes out his phone and pulls up the file on Wayne. He taps the article about that fateful night in Crime Alley. He wants to make sure the minute is correct and it seems like such a small detail.

Damian moves the hands to 10:48, the time of death.

His lips turn up in a smug grin as he hears the hiss-thud of a heavy lock detach before the clock slides to the side revealing a narrow opening and a dark descent.

Damian steps forward without hesitation. He has never feared the dark or the unknown. He’s prepared for anything.

Or he thought he was. But he can’t restrain the sense of hilarity he feels when he reaches the bottom of the steps and finds a glut of evidence that Batman, Thomas Wayne, the owner of a dozen casinos and hotels in Gotham alone and one of the wealthiest men in the world, is _living_ in a cold, dark, dripping cave.

Damian manages to stifle the laugh that bubbles up from deep in his heart and keeps it to an amused huff. He’s positive now. This is exactly why he’s never bothered to kill Wayne. In every way that matters, the man is already dead.

All that’s left is anguish. And Damian enjoys watching him wallow in it.

It does not take very long to spot Jason, slumped over the desk, fast asleep with his face in an open book.

This time, Damian’s smile is softer. He likes the way Jason looks when he’s asleep. Peaceful and unburdened.

He takes one step toward his prize. Feels the air shift behind him a split second too late to block the vicious kick that sends him flying forward but soon enough to turn that momentum into a roll.

He comes up in a crouch on the balls of his feet, sword unsheathed and held at the ready in his left hand while his right is behind his back grasping the handle of one of the many throwing knives he has hidden on his person, facing the threat.

Finally.

“I’m so glad you could make it, demon,” Wayne sneers, eyes obscured by glowing red lenses but Damian can feel the feral anticipation radiating off the man, can see the coiled muscles twitching in eagerness for the fight to come. They’ve both wanted this for a very long time.

Damian narrows his eyes. “Did you use the man you claim to love as bait?” He scoffs, “I may be a killer and a demon, but I would never stoop so low.”

Batman snorts, “You murdered your grandfather and your mother. As if you could ever pass judgement on another man’s actions.”

“Not that it matters, _grandfather_ ,” Damian growls, reveling in the enraged snarl Wayne lets loose at the moniker, and letting the anger boiling inside him rise to the surface. He’s found that his own passion can make him even fiercer so long as he controls it, “But I killed those who desecrated the remains of your son. Perhaps the motivation was childish and naïve but I was 12 at the time so I forgive my weakness in those moments and focus on the result.”

“Congratulations. You ascended to the head of the League of Assassins, something you were always going to be, a little early. And don’t pretend you did anything for my benefit.”

Damian straightens a little and laughs. “You don’t know me. At all. By your own admission, you’ve never wanted to. You are too ill-informed to comment on what motivates me,” Damian smiles dangerously, “But I know you. Intimately. I know _exactly_ what you’re capable of, precisely what your limitations are. You’re old. You came to combat late in life. You have an excellent mind but my intellect is more than a match for yours. You’re comparatively slow, comparatively poorly trained. I am a weapon, mind and body. You will fail and quickly.”

“So many words, so little action,” Wayne taunts.

Damian shrugs, “Everything I’ve told you would happen has happened. I don’t know why you would believe this will go differently. But, if you are so desperate to die then I shall accommodate that desire.”

He lunges.

He feints left as he looses the throwing knife in arch. He barely hears the curse as the blade imbeds in Wayne’s left shoulder because he’s already in Batman’s space, throwing his weight behind his own shoulder and knocking the older man off balance.

A gauntlet blocks the first jab of his katana. But Damian’s free hand has already planted another dagger deep into Wayne’s upper thigh, missing the artery by an inch.

An elbow comes down on Damian’s back but he’d been expecting it, sacrificing the uncomfortable but mostly harmless blow in favor of positioning himself to be able to sink yet another knife between the bigger man’s ribs. Not a killing blow, but Wayne is losing a lot of blood now.

A gloved hand shoots out, grabs Damian by the throat and squeezes with obvious intent to crush. Damian swings his legs up to wrap around Batman’s own neck and uses the momentum to fling the man to the floor, smashing his head into the stone hard enough to stun him.

The grip on his throat loosens enough that Damian can pry the fingers off and, letting his own rage seep into his fighting, stabs another blade into Wayne’s hand.

Damian stands as Wayne shouts, using what little breath he has left. Then he spins, putting all his weight and strength into the kick that connects with Batman’s face.

When Thomas Wayne hits the floor, Damian finds himself disappointed. He knew it’d be over quickly, but he’d wanted to drag it out a little more, really get the older man working, thinking he might win, just to see the look on his face when Damian effortlessly ended him.

He sighs as he reaches over and pulls the cowl off the face of the man who would use _his_ priest as bait. He shouldn’t have let that much of his anger in if he’d wanted to savor the fight more.

Wayne coughs up blood as Damian presses the tip of his katana, the one he took from Ra’s al Ghul in their fight to the death, the one he ran through Talia’s heart, to the other man’s throat.

“I’ve done nothing but fight my entire life,” Damian says quietly, “You thought you stood a chance because that’s what I wanted you to think, just in case it ever came to this. You’ve always allowed your hatred and fear of me to cloud your mind. Now, I’ll be merciful and end your suffering.”

He raises the sword, relishing the defeat, the resentment in the old man’s eyes; the way his arms and legs twitch like they’re trying to fight again.

“Stop!”

Hands grasp his wrists to prevent the killing stroke. It’s not enough strength to stop him if he wants to continue but Damian scowls and hesitates long enough to look down into Jason’s wide, pleading eyes.

“Please, Damian,” Jason’s voice cracks and he looks like he’s holding back tears, “Please… don’t.”

“He assaulted you, twice now, and tried to kidnap you,” Damian hisses, “Not to mention _my_ history with the man. Why should I spare him?”

Jason turns red and swallows hard before glancing down at the broken bat.

Damian shakes his head in disbelief.

“You _still_ care about him? _Love_ him?”

Jason looks back into his eyes and Damian is going to have to examine later what it is about the kindness and affection he sees there that calms him so quickly. Because he’s going to have to find a way to ignore it.

“The nature of it may change but… I’ll always love the people I’ve loved. That’s him,” Jason all but whispers, his hands squeeze Damian’s wrists, “And you.”

Damian stares at him for a moment. “So you’ll still love me if I kill him?”

Jason swallows again, doesn’t take his eyes from Damian’s even as they start to water at the thought, “It will break my heart. And it will break this,” he motions between them, “Please… if you kill him, I’ll lose you both.”

Damian holds Jason’s gaze, and his own breath. “And if I don’t? If I spare him… what does that mean for your love?”

Thomas flinches below them, like he’s trying to sit up. It’s a good thing the man is a doctor and can patch himself up well enough to not have already died being Batman. Otherwise this whole conversation would be pointless as Wayne bled out. Alas, he’ll likely make it if he can get to the medical supplies 10 feet away in the next half hour or so.

“If you leave him, let him live, and promise me you won’t come looking for a fight, then this doesn’t have to end—”

“Ja—Jay… don’t—” Thomas rasps from the floor.

But Damian doesn’t spare the man a look. Jason’s blue eyes are latched to his and he almost doesn’t want to hope that Jason’s about to say the words he so desperately wants to hear.

“This doesn’t have to end and… and I’ll go with you. When you leave… I’ll go with you.”

There’s no hesitation, no pause, no overthinking. The sword is back in its saya almost before Jason has finished the sentence.

And Damian doesn’t care how tasteless it is, how cruel or petty it might be, he pulls Jason to him, wraps his arms around him tightly, possessively, and claims his lips with a greedy kiss.

Jason pushes at him gently but Damian doesn’t release him until he’s had his fill.

“Then let’s go,” he says, brushing a lock of white hair out of the priest’s face.

“No—” Thomas mutters, still prone and bleeding.

Jason looks down at him then back to Damian, another imploring look in his eyes.

“We have to patch him up—”

“We certainly do not.”

“Please,” Jason practically begs, “We can’t leave him like this.”

Damian rolls his eyes, “-tt- If you want to sew him back together again I’ll wait. But I will not assist you.”

“Don—don’t… don’t fucking touch me,” Wayne grinds out when they move toward him, the knife that was in his shoulder held up between them, “Get—Get the hell out—outta my cave.”

“Tom—”

He moves the blade to point at Jason.

Jason freezes, eyes wide again and this time one of the tears that has been hovering at the edge, finally falls.

“Tom… please…” Jason whispers.

“Get. Out.”

Jason doesn’t move for a long moment. Just stares, beseechingly into eyes full of bitterness and anger and agony.

“Come, Jason,” Damian takes him by the arm, “Leave him be.”

Jason reluctantly lets Damian guide him out, leaving Wayne to his misery.

Damian allows himself a victorious grin.

He always gets what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I suck at fight scenes. 
> 
> Hope this wasn't anticlimactic. As always, let me know what you think. I love hearing from you guys <3


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...
> 
> There will be a Thomas/Jason prequel for this that focuses on how they met and how Jason died.
> 
> There will be a Damian/Jason sequel for this that focuses on their relationship and sheds light on Jason's resurrection.
> 
> There will ALSO be a Thomas/Jason SEQUEL for this because Flashpoint Thomas Wayne is in the canon continuity right now and I think this guy will very much want to me the Red Hood. 
> 
> (Help... I'm addicted)

Jason doesn’t say a word to him in the car. He sits on the far side of the bench, rests his chin in his hand, and gazes out the window into the darkness.

Damian gives him his space. He doesn’t think Jason is angry with him. He’s pretty confident he managed to play everything _exactly_ right.

Jason just needs some time. A man he loves just abducted him and tried to make him live in cold, wet, bat filled cave. To ‘protect’ him. And then rejected Jason’s kindness.

Damian smiles to himself. Wayne made this way too easy for him.

He does wish he’d been able to finally just get rid of the man. He could have. It would have been easy to end his grandfather’s life, scoop up his priest, and take Jason home with him. Whether he liked it or not.

Damian didn’t much care about the hypocrisy of criticizing Wayne for doing something he would absolutely do to get what he wanted. And he’s not necessarily above _making_ Jason do what he wants him to.

He glances at the man out of the corner of his eye. Damian’s first priority will always be himself and his own contentment. Damian’s happiness isn’t necessarily reliant on Jason’s, as long as Damian has the priest, he will be satisfied.

But…

He finds he is willing to sacrifice _a little_ to attempt to keep Jason happy.

And that is already more than he should.

Damian sighs and pulls out his tablet, catching up on work that desperately needs his attention.

Jason doesn’t say anything when it becomes clear that they’re going straight to the penthouse. Doesn’t speak in the elevator. Glances with disinterest at the small box of his belongings that one of Damian’s men had collected from the church.

He stands in the middle of the living room, looking like a lost puppy.

Damian finds it endearing. He likes lost puppies.

“Would you like me to order dinner?” Damian asks, carefully keeping his tone gentle even as he stands stiffly upright and keeps his distance.

Finally Jason turns and looks at him. In the penthouse’s much better lighting, Damian can see the dark circles under his eyes. Not to mention the edges of dark marks poking out from under the neck of Jason’s red hoodie.

Damian refrains from frowning at the sudden realization that Jason isn’t wearing the clothes he gave him. No matter, he thinks. He will have them thrown out while Jason sleeps. Tomorrow is the beginning of something very different for the priest.

Jason shakes his head. “I’m… tired. I’d like to just go to bed.”

Damian smiles. He likes the way Jason phrased that, almost like he’s asking permission.

“Of course,” he says kindly, moving to show Jason to a guest room.

Jason tilts his head at him and confusion flashes briefly across his face before his eyes dart the other direction towards Damian’s room.

“I didn’t want to presume,” Damian says smooth as silk, even though he did.

“I… I don’t want to… _do_ anything,” Jason mutters eyes going to stare at the toes of his shoes, “But I… don’t really want to be alone either…”

“It is fine,” Damian responds graciously, imaging how amazing Jason will be after just a couple months at his compound, cut off from everything he knows with only Damian to turn to. “We have much to discuss on the flight tomorrow. You should get as much rest as possible.”

Jason hesitates. Damian realizes the priest wants him to go to bed now too.

“I have a some work I must complete. But I will join you soon. I promise.”

Jason nods and disappears into Damian’s room.

When Damian finally does join him several hours later it’s not exactly ‘soon’ by any definition. Jason is snoring softly and Damian can’t help but take a moment to admire the way his pale skin is lit by the moon.

When he crawls into the bed, Jason immediately snuggles up to him. Damian wraps his arms around his priest protectively and drifts off quickly.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wait, seriously?”

Damian’s face is a somber mask and Jason knows he’s definitely not joking.

The plane has already taken off. Damian’s jet is even nicer than Thomas’s and Jason can’t help but marvel at the type of people he attracts. And is attracted to, apparently.

“I told you my world is dangerous. Now you know the truth of the matter. It is imperative that you publicly play the part.”

“Of your slave?”

Damian’s nose scrunches at the word and Jason’s brain stalls for moment. Damian actually looks… cute. Not sexy or hot or anything like that but just… adorable. He smiles despite himself.

“I wouldn’t say ‘slave’ more like… subject?”

Jason glares at him. “You just said you’d have to make your _actual_ subjects, like your servants and your minions, think that you’re just using me for sex and that I’m just a prize you stole from your enemy, that I’d… that you might have to… to—”

Jason feels his face flush hot from the tips of his ears down to his chest. He can’t finish the sentence and it’s not any less embarrassing when Damian does it for him.

“That I might have to take you in front of them. That if you publicly disobey me, I will have to publicly punish you.”

He cringes as Damian repeats the offending sentences. Tries to ignore and squash the tingle at the base of his spine and the fluttering he feels under the skin just below his hips.

“No one can suspect you are anything more than a warm body, Jason,” Damian says quietly, green eyes intense and deadly serious.

Jason swallows. That’s… the problem. He knows how he feels about Damian. But Thomas was manipulative, not above leveraging Jason’s insecurities and devotion for his own benefit, to get Jason to do what he wanted. He sees a lot of Thomas in Damian.

“Am I?” Jason mumbles, looking away, picking at the leather of the sofa he’s sitting on.

“Are you what?”

“More… than a… than a—”

Damian’s warm hands cup around his face and lift Jason’s eyes to meet his own.

“Jason,” he hums, the way his name comes out in a deep rumble sends a shiver down Jason’s spine, “You are my most treasured _possession_.”

Damian smirks as Jason huffs and tries to pull away. But the assassin keeps a firm hold on his priest.

“I know you understand what my saying this means,” Damian starts, his smile softening, slightly, into something more earnest. He has every ounce of Jason’s attention when he continues, “I would burn the world for you, _Beloved_.”

Jason shudders again and meets Damian’s lips when they press against his own. Enjoys the way Damian’s tongue slides against his own.

“Do I really have to call you ‘master’ though?” Jason breathes when Damian finally releases him.

The other man’s pupils go even wider and his grin is a lot less tender looking than it was a few minutes ago.

“Nonnegotiable.”

Damian’s eyes rake down his body, covered, once again by clothing Damian has provided. Black jeans and another emerald green sweater. The only real difference is that this sweater was chosen with a lot less attention to covering the hand-print on his neck and the other marks that are hinted at above the v-neck.

“Let’s practice,” Damian growls, “Stand up and remove your clothing.”

Jason gulps as a wave of heat crashes through him.

He stands and reaches for the hem of sweater. Damian moves faster than lightning.

Jason cries out and almost falls forward, catches himself on Damian’s broad shoulders and tries not to move. Damian’s hand is griping his balls through his jeans, not hard enough to _really_ hurt, but hard _enough_.

“You are forgetting something… _Todd_.”

Jason is trembling now. An echo of calling Damian ‘Father’ only days ago pings around in his brain. He supposes this isn’t any worse…

“So—sorry… _master_ ,” he exhales softly.

Damian releases him but keeps him close. “Continue. But be mindful.”

“Yes… master,” he submits shakily.

When Jason has all of his clothing off, the leader of a secret organization of murderers takes in ever inch of his exposed flesh as he stands there, eyes closed, shivering.

He hears a zipper and opens his eyes to see Damian stroking himself without taking his eyes off Jason’s body.

“There is oil in the cabinet behind you. Bottom drawer.”

Even without Damian’s wicked smirk Jason would know that he did that on purpose, planned this before they ever got on the plane.

He almost kneels demurely to retrieve it, just to be a brat. But he knows what Damian wants and he knows that even though this is _mostly_ for fun, Damian will feel much more secure in knowing that Jason is capable of doing what is necessary to protect them both.

So he bends at the waist, feels his cheeks spread apart at the movement giving Damian a clear view.

Damian hums in approval as Jason stands and turns back to him.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I expect only honesty.”

Jason waits for him to continue but he seems to be waiting for—oh…

“Of course, master.”

“Do you require preparation?”

Jason looks down at Damian’s cock. It’s standing up on its own, as Damian reclines with his arms spread along the backrest, huge, hard, red, and leaking. Jason can see the vein on the underside throbbing. His mouth waters and he wets his lips.

“N—no, master.”

Damian’s gaze bores into him, trying to decide if he’s being truthful.

“Excellent,” he says finally, “I’d rather not wait to be inside you.”

Somehow Damian’s eyes get darker, hungrier. “Rub the oil onto my cock.”

Jason steps forward, kneels in front of Damian, and does as he’s told, muttering a quiet “Yes, master”.

Damian pulls Jason up by his hair when he deems himself sufficiently slick and Jason groans. He doesn’t want to wait to have Damian inside him either.

“Turn around.”  And Jason does it. “Reach back and guide me into your greedy little hole.”

Jason’s brain shorts out for a moment until a sharp slap to his ass brings him back to the task at hand.

“Sorry, master,” he manages to breathe as he sinks slowly down. The stretch is divine, just the right side of too much, just that tiny bit of pain that drives Jason wild. He moans when he’s fully seated in Damian’s lap. So full.

“Now,” Damian growls, not touching him at all except for where they’re joined, “Fuck yourself.”

And Jason doesn’t have to be told twice. He braces his knees as best he can against the sofa on either side of Damian’s hips and his hands on Damian’s knees and pushes himself up until just the head remains inside him, then he drops down.

He sets a vigorous pace. And he does _not_ want to examine why he’s so aroused by the mere fact that Damian hasn’t touched him since he started.

A few minutes in, the attendant, a cute blonde girl, enters to ask if they want any refreshment and freezes, staring at them.

Jason’s pace falters and he knows his whole body turns red in humiliation.

Damian chuckles and the hand suddenly on Jason’s back pushing him forward until he has to catch himself with his own hands on the floor is the only time Damian touches him.

“Don’t you dare stop, _Todd_.”

Jason swallows and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to pretend the girl isn’t there.

But they start talking like _he_ isn’t there.

“I—I can come back later,” the girls stammers.

“Nonsense,” Damian responds, completely at ease, “Please bring two mint teas.”

Jason can hear her moving around to comply and tries to tell himself that she’s just as uncomfortable as he is.

Damian jerks his hips up making Jason cry out, more in surprise than anything else.

“That should be a better angle but you’re not matching your prior pace. Get back to it.”

This time Damian pokes the top of his thigh lightly almost like a gentle nudge.

Right. “Sorry… sorry… ma—master,” Jason pants, using his arms to slam himself back and his legs to push himself forward again.

Jason is soon lost to a haze of pleasure. At some point the girl must have delivered the drinks and disappeared again but he was long gone by then.

Finally, Damian grabs his hips and fucks into him once, twice, and Jason moans loudly at the feel of his mas—of Damian’s come filling him up.

It only takes a couple strokes from Damian’s big, firm hand to make Jason spill all over his own stomach and all the way up to his chest.

He dutifully licks his release from Damian’s fingers as the assassin scoops up the mess on Jason’s abdomen and feeds it to him.

Eventually, Damian pulls out of him and rests him back against the sofa which is definitely going to be ruined with the way that wet sticky liquid is dripping out of him.

“Jason,” Damian’s voice is soft but firm. Jason groans, he can tell by the tone, they’re not finished, Damian wants something else. But he’s sore already, the position and doing all the work… his muscles burn. “Jason. I’ve just given you my seed. Don’t you have something to say?”

Jason swallows thickly. Pries his eyes open and looks straight into Damian’s.

“Thank you, master.”

Damian smiles lazily.

“I believe this will work well, Beloved.”

 

* * *

 

 

**[MUCH Later]**

_I’m not the hero of this story. I’m a man who’s been corrupted by his own unbearable pain. I’m a man who has too much blood on his hands to be called good. I’m a man who had nothing left to live for… until the day I met the Flash._

“We have to take down Aquaman and Wonder Woman before they ravage the rest of the Earth fighting over it. You know how powerful  they are. You know the allies they have. I need to know and I need to know now… who’s with me?”

Cyborg’s speech is rallying. If you’re a naïve child like the Shazam kids. Or Element Woman.

Batman stands silently while the other members of the gathering bicker about working with people they hate and decide whether to join Cyborg’s suicide mission to save the world.

Thomas frowns at them all and rolls his eyes behind his cowl. He really couldn’t care less about this war. About these people. Everything he’s ever cared about is long gone. Taken from him by forces beyond his control. It was a hard pill to swallow. It took a while, constant reminding, but he finally learned. This world is hell. This world is a punishment.

“Forget it,” Thomas grunts when they all look at him, turning to leave, “You don’t stand a chance. This fight club you put together… they’ll kill each other and then they’ll kill you.”

“The world’s going to erupt into war, Batman! And if it does, there won’t be _anything_ left! Including Gotham! Including _you_!” Cyborg shouts at him as he leaps from the building.

“One can only hope,” he mutters, certain that Cyborg, at least, can still hear him.

The manor is in even worse state than the last time… than the last time _he_ was here, when he had left for good. When Thomas had made absolutely certain that he would never come back. In a fit of rage at his stupidity and helplessness, he had ripped the clock from the wall and he’d never repaired it. What was the point? No one came here.

Until now.

Thomas almost kills the blonde man who intrudes on his solitude and misery, daring to call him by his dead son’s name. Breaks his fingers and beats him until he shouts and grabs his head muttering about how this isn’t a parallel world, this is real and his memories are changing.

Something tugs at the forgotten, dead, cold pieces of Thomas’s heart as this Barry Allen tells him his story, about a different world, altered histories…

But Thomas doesn’t care about any of that. This man from a different reality thought _he_ was his _son_.

“What about Bruce?” He interrupts.

“In the world I came from, you were shot and killed instead of him. Bruce became Batman to wage war against crime in Gotham City. Your son is one of my closet friends.”

Bruce survived… and Thomas had died? That’s a trade he’d make in a nanosecond, no questions asked.

Even if it weren’t for the other things. That if he’s dead, Jason would never have met him. If he doesn’t turn half of Gotham into the accepting cesspool of vice that allowed Brother Blood to gain a footing, Jason won’t join a cult that may not ever even exist… he won’t die and mysteriously return with a need to help the undeserving wretches of… with the desire to leave him again.

With Thomas dead there won’t be any reason for Ra’s and Talia to try to steal his genetic material. With Bruce alive there will be nothing for them to take.

Jason will never meet Damian al Ghul.

The bastard will have never been born.

Thomas looks into pretty blue eyes. Not quite the sky blue his son’s were. Much closer to the rich azure that Jason’s were before his—before he returned.

“Can you really change this world?”

Barry’s eyes narrow and harden in determination. “I have to.”

 

*              *              *

 

They do.

Or he thought they did.

Barry disappears in a burst of speed and Thomas, extremely wounded, closes his eyes, ready to die from his injuries or fade away. Whichever comes first.

A better world awaits. He won’t be there to see it but that’s okay. Bruce will be there, safe and strong with friends like Barry to protect him.

And Jason will be better off.

He lets the darkness overtake him with a happy fantasy that maybe fate will bring Bruce and Jason together. Bruce isn’t quite old enough to be Jason’s father but maybe they’ll be friends. Maybe more. They both deserve someone as kind and loving and open as the other. Someone better than him.

When he wakes again, left for dead on an empty battlefield, he’s surprised.

At first.

Then disappointment floods into him.

Anger and self-loathing take over halfway across the Atlantic as he returns to Gotham.

By the time he returns to the cave, it’s all replaced by a general sense of foolishness. That empty feeling he had grown accustomed to is back but where he was numb to it before, now it hurts again. He allowed himself to hope that this nightmare could end and be replaced by something better. And he’s paying for that naivete.

Months pass and he can’t bring himself to care about anything.  It’s more out of habit that he checks up on Jason daily, making sure that he’s safe and not getting caught up in things. At least Damian seems to have a vested interest in keeping him as far away from the ongoing conflict as possible.

Even though that’s getting harder and harder to do. Thomas watches the world dissolves around him in a different way. Torn apart by a kind of hate and fury he’s never seen before.

He’s past ready to die when they come for him. Aquaman and Wonder Woman seem to agree on one thing. The Bat is a mutual enemy.

There’s a bang and familiar red lightning. The Flash is back and…

“Son?”

They talk briefly. This _is_ the Flash he met, this is _his_ son. Bruce, grown tall, strong, handsome, intelligent. He doesn’t show it but he almost can’t believe his boy is standing here.

They fight side by side. Batman and Batman. Beating back Amazons and Atlanteans while Barry rebuilds his absurd ‘treadmill’.  He wishes that Martha could be here, could see their perfect baby standing before them a great man. But Bruce doesn’t need to know what became of his mother in this world. His boy doesn’t need to carry that home with him.

It’s time for them to go. Bruce wants him to come with them but he knows he can’t. He will not be responsible for anything that might go wrong by the presence of an anomaly.

“I knew I’d never get a chance to respond to your letter,” Bruce is saying, “But if I did, there was one thing I wanted to tell you above anything else… You’re a grandfather. I have a son.”

Thomas has his back to him so he doesn’t think Bruce sees the way he tenses and scowls briefly before reassuring himself that whoever Bruce’s son is, there’s no way it can be Damian al Ghul.

He shoves Bruce into Barry’s arms as the treadmill prepares to leave. Bruce begs him to come. Barry echoes his pleas.

“There is more I should have shared in that letter, so listen to me. Don’t be Batman. Find happiness. _Please_. You don’t have to do this. Don’t do it for me. Don’t do it for your mother. Be a father to your son in a way I never could be for you. Let the Batman die with me.”

He almost stops there. Almost lets it go. He doesn’t want to influence that better world in any negative way. But he can’t help himself.

“And if you can find in you to do me one more favor, son. Find Jason Todd and make sure he’s alright.”

Bruce hard stops in the middle of a final appeal, his face twisting in stunned recognition. Even Barry pauses in surprise, obviously knowing the name.

Bruce finds his voice again.

“Wait… How do you know Ja—”

They’re gone in a flash of lightning and a cloud of dust.

Thomas feels a weight lift at the knowledge that these two good men already know Jason. That he’s in good hands, taken care of in a brighter world.

This time he sees the end coming. A bright white light as everything changes.

He leaps into it without hesitation.

 

* * *

 

_There’s only one thing I know about life. Some things happen by chance. And some things happen because we make them happen._


End file.
